


Balloons

by keire_ke



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-25
Updated: 2010-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-13 09:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keire_ke/pseuds/keire_ke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanzo hates the park, Hakkai, Gojyo, people and the world. He likes his OCD and his job as a professional Internet troll. He likes his unapologetic, rampant atheism. The universe sets out to prove him wrong. [39, background 58]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balloons

Title: Balloons  
Rating: 14  
Pairings: 39, past Sanzo/Koumyou, 58  
Genre: AU WAFF  
Wordcount: 50k, total.  
Warnings: Koumyou is dead. Also, before the pairings squick you out, for the purposes of this fic Koumyou was never Sanzo's father figure. Might contain wacky adventures.  
Summary: Sanzo hates the park, Hakkai, Gojyo, people and the world. He likes his OCD and his job as a professional Internet troll. He likes his unapologetic, rampant atheism. The universe sets out to prove him wrong.

Author's Note: Very loosely based on the (awesome and amazing) movie Up! This is actually a “light” version of the bunny – the original explored the pitfalls of reincarnation and crushed your soul.

Betaed by Kispexi. <3 Thank you, hun!

* * *

Balloons. The entire sky was filled with goddamned balloons. Fucking parades. As if there was anything to celebrate. Sanzo slammed the crystal clear window shut in a fit of annoyance and stalked to the immaculate kitchen. He dumped the sponge and the window-cleaner in the sink, rinsed the basin, dried it, and put it away. Washing the windows was the final step in his weekly ballet of sanitising the flat; all that remained was returning the cleaning liquids to their cupboards, drying the sink with a cloth, and then he was done.

The result of his efforts was that the place was so sterile you could pour soup directly onto the floor of each of three spacious rooms and lick it clean, without inhaling so much as a microbe. Now, fumes from too many chemicals, that was another matter. They could probably kill an elephant, provided you could get an elephant up two flights of stairs and persuade it to try breathing too close to the spotless floor.

That was the first thing people noticed when they entered the flat, for whatever reason – the cleanliness. Every surface gleamed, the wooden floors were waxed and shining, the curtains could have appeared in any washing powder commercial at a moment’s notice. This was a place where dirt seemed nonexistent.

The second thing people noticed, once they got over the fact that a flat inhabited by an actual person could be this sanitary, was the emptiness.

There was no furniture in any of the rooms, save for a cheap plywood desk and a matching chair and a rolled-up futon at its side, glaringly out of place in the sunny living room, whose walls and doorways were finished with mahogany. Only the kitchen boasted a semblance of a flat furnished to its character and even that was spoiled by the eerie emptiness of the cupboards and the shelves.

Nobody had lived in this flat for years.

Sanzo didn’t particularly enjoy housework. He never had. He devoted a good portion of his days to it, even though he really didn’t have to – he could hire a maid, a fact that Hakkai never failed to bring up whenever he set foot in the flat (all too often, in Sanzo’s opinion) -- but that would have required allowing a stranger inside, and Sanzo had a deadly allergy to people. Hatred, allergy, whichever. He preferred to be left alone, a fact which everybody save for Hakkai had acknowledged, out of respect, indifference to his existence, or fright.

Sanzo aligned the cleaning liquids and closed the cupboard door, then made a beeline for the fridge. These days it contained nothing but beer cans, which was fine by him. Beer contained enough calories to keep a man going for a long time, and a liquid diet had many advantages. Sanzo certainly wasn’t complaining.

Well, that wasn’t true. Sanzo did complain, loudly and with gusto – complaining was the only thing that still inspired a quasi-emotional response in his soul. These days Sanzo did it with the aide of the Internet, another wonder in the world so insanely stupid it had produced, and had the gall to be proud of, democracy. As far as Sanzo was concerned, the optimal solution would be to shoot everybody. Screw all the humanitarian crap. The population as a whole deserved neither mercy nor compassion: every last human being was unworthy of saving, and anyone stupid enough to pity the fool who got himself into trouble, ought to be shot on general principle.

Sanzo returned to his desk, pulled the curtains over the window to block out the natural light, took a long sip of his beer, a longer drag of his cigarette, and typed the phrase out.

“The world,” he continued, “is a craphole run by dickheads who deserve everything that’s coming to them, and no, I am not kidding. Thank the random fluctuations in space-time that some uneducated, naïve dweebs like to call god that global warming will soon burn all of this damned planet to a crisp.”

He leaned back in his chair to admire his work. He despised the Internet as a whole – how could he not, when it was run by morons, for morons – but as Hakkai often pointed out there was very little in this world that he didn’t despise. In fact, he could count the things he awarded with lukewarm approval on the fingers of one hand.

Down on the street a child chirped in delight and Sanzo added a scathing paragraph on how children were a bane to modern societies and Thomas Harris had the right idea how to deal with them.

He read the entry through one more time, deleted the quote that smacked of Mr T and hit “send”. He lit a cigarette, a treat he deserved for yet another flame-war he was certain to inspire, and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t breathe, just let the smoke escape his parted lips, and watched as it curled in the air, floating towards the ceiling in lazy waves.

The sight was entirely too familiar. Somewhere in the vast expanses of the universe there was a counter that measured everyone’s hours, and much of his had been spent watching the smoke from his cigarette and Koumyou’s pipe wafting towards the ceiling. Between the two of them they had had enough careless laziness to spend entire days in bed, smoking themselves into an early grave.

Of course, the worst that had happened to Sanzo was a dry throat.

Sanzo clenched his eyes shut. How the fuck could he still smoke, he asked himself time and again, when the rest of the flat had been scrubbed clean of anything that even remotely hinted at the presence of living human being, now or in the past. He stopped short of hanging tarp at the windows, not because sunlight didn’t make him irritable these days, but because Hakkai had pitched an unholy fit when he saw the living room cast into darkness.

Sanzo had considered changing the locks (this followed the realisation that Hakkai had taken Koumyou’s set of keys and wouldn’t give them back), and he would have, had he never been introduced to Hakkai’s sleazy boyfriend, who viewed lock picking as a harmless hobby. Fucking friends, Sanzo had thought more times than he cared to count, who needed enemies with them around?

The computer pinged at the same time as the phone rang. Sanzo ignored the latter in favour of the former. His fans spent entirely too much time glued to their computers, which was fine by him – their ineffectual attempts at hurling insults in his direction were hilarious and comprised about thirty percent of his enjoyment of life these days. Another sixty was his day job and the remaining ten was tobacco and alcohol.

The phone rang again. Sanzo ignored it.

The phone continued to ring, until Sanzo finally picked up the receiver. “Fuck you,” he said.

“’Fuck you’ isn’t a socially acceptable greeting,” Hakkai said.

“What do you want?”

“I am merely calling to remind you of your weekly outing.”

“No.”

“Don’t you dare hang up!”

Sanzo’s fingers hovered over the disconnect button. “This is pointless,” he said, his voice as close to wheedling as it would ever get.

“It is not. Either you go, or I will drag you. And if you cuff yourself to anything, I will drug you, drag you out in a wheelchair and tell everyone you are a grumpy cripple with a heart of gold who needs a Girl Scout with cookies to melt his icy demeanour.”

Sanzo didn’t even think about calling out the ridiculousness of the threat. Hakkai would do all of it, as advertised, down to the Girl Scout. Once again he had to bow down in respect to the evil the man represented. His own trolling of the Internet seemed like kicking cans to the kerb in comparison to Hakkai’s eating puppies alive.

“What do you want?”

“Same thing I want every week,” Hakkai said cheerfully. Sanzo was beginning to suspect he had the conversation recorded. “I want you out in the park, for an hour.”

“Quarter of an hour.”

“An hour.”

“Half.”

“An hour.”

“Fuck you.”

“Thank you, no. Still an hour.”

“Go to hell.”

“Go to the park.”

Sanzo sighed. Fighting with Hakkai was like fighting with the goddamned rain. “Fine, I’ll go to the goddamned park.”

“Splendid. One hour, remember.”

“Whatever.”

“Gojyo will collect you tomorrow night for a movie and dinner with us, and I expect the fridge to be well-stocked on Sunday. I will cook, but I need groceries, which you will provide.”

“I am going to murder you,” Sanzo said, “in your sleep.”

“It’s been two years, Sanzo,” Hakkai replied, and there was concrete reinforced with steel in his voice, “be grateful I’m this lenient.”

Sanzo threw the receiver down and unplugged the phone. He went to check his email (seven messages – two wannabe trolls, two self-proclaimed kings of sarcasm and three newbies who took the Internet way too seriously), put on his shoes, plugged the phone back in and left the flat before it could ring.

Damn Hakkai.

At least it wasn’t raining. It wasn’t even cloudy. Sanzo was blinded by the over-eager sun, which, through a sequence of events he felt it was impossible to predict, led to a young mother spitting poison at him. How was he supposed to know some mothers were stupid enough not to introduce their children to the words “fornication,” “sodomy” and “baboons” early on in life?

Fortunately, Sanzo lived across the street from a park. This spared him the necessity of walking too far. Today the bench directly opposite his window was taken, and demanding that it was freed looked to be too much of a hassle, so he found himself a cosy spot by a secluded oak tree, hidden from view and the sun. The lazy buzzing of bees overhead was a guarantee no one would approach. Sanzo set an alarm clock for four fifty-seven and closed his eyes. If he dozed, the hour would surely pass much more quickly.

He barely had the time to think about a cigarette, when something disgusting hit his forehead, following the insult with a lungful of foul stench.

“What the fuck!” he yelled, not caring about any underage listeners.

A large, golden-brown dog was sitting before him, with an expression of idiotic glee on its fuzzy face and a tennis ball in its mouth. “You sick fuck,” Sanzo told it, sitting up straighter. “I am going to sue your owner for everything he’s fucking worth, you useless mutt.”

The dog turned its head to look at him, opened its mouth, dropped the ball, then proceeded to lick Sanzo’s face, mindless of the mortal peril it was placing itself and its master in. Its tail never stopped wagging, like it was on speed, or meta amphetamine, or whatever kids took these days to make the passing of time bearable.

Sanzo was going to sue the owner for being an idiot _and_ for cruelty to animals, because what fucking moron would feed an already hyper dog drugs.

Someone called out a single-syllable and the dog barked. Sanzo folded his arms and waited for the owner to come to him, get his canine, and receive news of a future lawsuit in person.

“There you are!” The dog barked, and proceeded to lap up the scratches and petting its owner bestowed upon it. “Did you find the ball?”

“Yes, it found the motherfucking ball, after it found my head. Are you fucking blind, you moron?”

“Yeah.”

Sanzo’s mouth, already open to deliver another insult, closed. “What?”

“Yeah, I’m blind,” said the man. Sanzo blinked. “’S why I wander the park with a creepy harness.” There was indeed a creepy-looking harness in his hand. Sanzo’s brain was still processing. He didn’t look blind. He looked like a healthy twenty-something year old, with hair that matched the shape and size of a mop, and eyes that matched the dog’s fur in colour.

“What?”

“Seriously, are you blind?” the man asked in turn, which Sanzo found mind-boggling. Normally at this stage the exchange of insults would have been well under way, but this moron was _laughing_.

“Keep the mutt away from me,” Sanzo said gruffly.

“I’m terribly sorry about hitting you. No one’s usually under this tree, what with the bees and all.”

The words “shut up and leave me alone” were on the tip of his tongue, but to Sanzo’s surprise a very civil “my bench was occupied,” emerged instead. He never would have suspected himself of sentimentality, but apparently even he drew the line at yelling at cripples. Suddenly he wished for Hakkai, the supreme emperor of evil, to be there. He would send the visually challenged retard packing.

“You have your own bench? Really?”

“It’s not my bench,” Sanzo said, rolling his eyes. “Idiot.” He watched with growing panic as the man made himself comfortable on the grass, clearly intending to stay awhile. The dog rolled onto its back, exposing its belly to scratches and pats, lapping up the attention like the ADHD beast it was.

“Yeah, you don’t seem like the kinda guy who’d sponsor a bench. I’m Goku. This is Dog.”

“What do you call your children, Boy, Other Boy and Girl?”

“It’s Duug, not Dog, Jesus. Relax a little, wouldja?” Goku, clearly not offended in the slightest, stretched out the leg Dug wasn’t parked on. Sanzo revised his earlier opinion. Goku couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, as no self-respecting adult would leave the house in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and calf-length cargo trousers. He looked ten. “Besides, I didn’t name him, he’s a guide dog.”

“Don’t blame other people for your dog having a stupid name.”

Goku laughed. “Dug was specially bred to be a guide dog, and the family that raised him called him Dug. I only got him this winter.”

Dug sat up suddenly, its eyes fixed to a spot above Sanzo’s head. It growled and leapt, following a grey furry streak of fur across the lawn and to yet another tree.

“What happened?” Goku asked rising to his knees.

“Squirrel.”

“Oh.”

“He must be a lousy guide, if he goes running after every critter,” Sanzo said, cursing himself mentally. Shut up, stop fuelling the conversation, get up and get away, he told himself. Too bad his arse insisted on being too heavy to move.

“It’s playtime, when the harness’ off.” Goku straightened his legs in front of him and leaned back. His fingers came in contact with the slimy ball. “There it is. Sorry about hitting you. I didn’t mean to.”

“For a blind guy you have remarkable accuracy.” Sanzo watched Goku’s face for the slightest hint of this being an elaborate, unnecessary prank, but the way his eyes focused on nothing in particular, even though he did appear to be looking straight at Sanzo, corroborated his story.

“Way to poke fun at a cripple,” Goku said. His lips curled into a pout, even though to Sanzo’s inexpert ear he was laughing. “Hey, is anyone there?”

Sanzo looked in the direction Goku pointed the tennis missile. There was no one but the dog, which was still barking up a tree. “No.”

“Awesome. Dug!” Goku launched the ball high into the air.

The dog turned its head so fast Sanzo could swear he heard its neck snap. Its eyes followed the ball and then it was running across the lawn, like the moron it was. Goku laughed when Dug pounced on him with the ball caught between its jaws. Its tail was wagging so hard its hind legs were doing the polka to keep up.

“What’s your name?” Goku asked, looking directly at Sanzo. His fingers were buried in Dug’s golden fur, and yet the effect of having these bizarre, unseeing eyes fixed at him was so uncanny Sanzo shuddered.

He looked at the grinning, golden canine, up into the human eyes of roughly the same shade, up higher onto the brownish mop of hair, higher still into the sky, as if to ask “why me?” and then back down, to the man’s pink lips and heaving chest.

“Sanzo.”

Goku beamed.

Sanzo smiled, despite himself.

The alarm clock rang.

“What was that?”

“My alarm clock.”

“You take an alarm clock with you to the park?”

“You take an ADHD dog to the park, what’s so different?”

“I take the dog, cuz I’d likely walk into a speeding lorry on my way without him. What’s your excuse?”

“I hate being outside.”

“Oh crap, don’t tell me you’re that weirdo who lives across the street!”

Sanzo said nothing.

“Wow,” Goku said. “You’re a local celebrity, did you know that? I’ve heard some girl tell her kid you’re gonna steal her away if she don’t stop whining.”

“And you’re a local freak-show, can I go now?” Sanzo snapped. Jesus My Face On A Tortilla Christ, what would it take to insult this guy?

“Am I stopping you?”

“How am I to know the dog doesn’t have an attack mode?”

“He’s a guide dog. He’s had training!”

“So have the police. That’s why I don’t go round antagonising them.”

“Meaning what, you cross the road when you see one?”

“What do you know, it speaks human.”

“I’m blind, not stupid.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Dick.”

“Monkey.”

Sanzo was counting on great many things to happen, up to and including a sudden meteor strike, but a burst of laughter was not one of them.

“Monkey, seriously? Are you ten?”

Goku’s fingers deftly snapped on Dug’s harness and almost as if it had a morphine drip built in, the dog’s demeanour changed completely. He straightened out, his eyes focused, his expression, if dogs can be said to have an expression, became serious. Goku got up and Dug took his place at his master’s side, all business. “We gotta go. Are you here often?”

“Sometimes,” Sanzo allowed cautiously.

“Well, I’m here every day, at least once, usually around four. I’ll see you sometime.”

“Considering you’re blind, I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Sanzo muttered to the tree, but again, Goku just laughed.

“Bye, Sanzo!”

Sanzo went home, solemnly vowing never to visit the park again.

TBC  


* * *

Sanzo liked sleeping in. _Used to_ like sleeping in. These days his brain fought him every step of the way, and won most of the time. He rolled off the futon at seven in the morning and followed up with a string of curses.

He made himself a coffee and returned to the living room, to drink it while scoffing at the world through the curtained window. Of course scoffing at anything was impossible with thick material blocking the view, so Sanzo settled for peering through a crack between the curtains.

“What the fuck,” he said to himself when, halfway through his coffee, he spied with his little eye something golden brown, moving quickly through the park.

It was the dumb mutt, with the dog on a short leash.

Sanzo took a sip of his coffee and pulled at the curtain, to get a better view. Goku was jogging, and fuck if that didn’t make him look like a normal person. He looked more comfortable running than Sanzo ever did, and that was considering Sanzo didn’t have to worry about tripping up over an inconvenient rock.

Sanzo was a little impressed. He figured it was because of the early hour.

He finished his coffee, washed the cup and had a shower. This served to wake him up, as much as anyone can be said to be awake at seven thirty a.m. By noon he had a flamewar going on nicely, and half a post written out about it, which would surely set off another. He spent the rest of the day detailing the many reasons owners of dogs should be shot. Then, as a breather, he wrote a piece about an average Joe Slob being harassed by a mutated potato.

Halfway through the task the phone rang, a disquieting break in the routine.

“What?” Sanzo asked, wedging the receiver between his ear and shoulder.

“Good morning, Sanzo.”

Fuck the lawyers, Sanzo thought. He hated being called by lawyers. They should be disqualified from the human race. “What do you want, Ukoku?”

“I am merely calling to inquire after your health.”

“I’m alive.”

“That’s splendid. Now, there is this semi-formal party, a very private affair, twenty guests at the most…”

“Not interested. Stop harassing me, or I’ll sue,” Sanzo said and ended the call. The man wouldn’t take no for an answer, ever. Thank god he was less invested than Hakkai, or else Sanzo would have to emigrate.

He went back to his writing. Around lunch he made himself a piece toast. Three hours later he had ramen and then, when suppertime rolled around, he drank a beer.

Goku must live close by, he thought randomly, in the middle of writing an anonymous comment to clarissa992’s mindless droning. If he was in the park this often, at these hours, he must live close. The thought stopped his fingers in their movement and led him to staring at the ceiling in consideration. He was sure he had never met Goku previously, though of course that wasn’t surprising – with the exception of the outings Hakkai sponsored and enforced, he’d hardly left the house in the past two years, so it would have been perfectly possible for a Stadium to have been built around the corner, equipped with its own football team to pose naked for the press, without him knowing about it.

No, Gojyo would probably have let him know if that was the case. Knowing Gojyo, he’d have provided photographic proof.

As was often the case with Sanzo’s life, the moment he incautiously mentioned Gojyo’s name, even if it was in his thoughts only, the doorbell rang.

“Ahoy, monk-boy. How’s life in the fortress of solitude?”

“It was splendid, until a troll showed up.”

“You ready for the movie and dinner?” Gojyo loitered in the doorway, which in Sanzo’s professional opinion was all the moron was good for, anyway.

“So long as we stop by the gun store and pick up extra ammo so I can blow my brains out.”

“Sorry, they’re fresh out. Plus, Hakkai insists I frisk you before we leave.”

“Touch me and I break all of your limbs.”

“Hakkai said you’d say that.”

“Does it ever occur to you that you are his bitch?”

“Dude, harsh. Most people start with ‘whipped’.”

“You passed whipped going five hundred miles an hour and playing the fucking pipes years ago. You are his bitch.”

Gojyo considered. “Yeah, but I’m getting sex out of it. Lots and lots of sex. You get bossed around for no reason at all.”

Sanzo wasn’t about to concede the point, though the insult stung. “Suppose I called the police?”

“Suppose you shut up and get in the car? I mean, I’m just saying, this would be a surprise, for once.”

Because Sanzo felt like it, he shut up and got into the car. Gojyo, once he collected his jaw from the floor, followed.

******

“Sanzo, such a nice surprise.”

“You being able to say that with a straight face, that’s a surprise.”

“We are in agreement then. It is nice to see you, all the same. You look well.”

Sanzo rolled his eyes.

“No, I mean it. You seem better.”

“I’ve been shooting up heroin. I have since met the pope in his pointy hat and a number of aliens,” Sanzo said, never breaking eye contact.

“That is wonderful news. Do you have preference for which movie we see?”

“Whatever.” Sanzo made a beeline for the liquor cabinet, studiously pretending to ignore the conversation taking place behind his back.

“What, you ain’t gonna check his arms?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Needle-marks, perhaps?”

“Sanzo wouldn’t actually abuse illegal substances, Gojyo. He is not stupid.”

“No, but he is not above shooting up so that he could tell you he’s shooting up and have you not believe him in the slightest.”

Sanzo could practically hear Hakkai consider, he could feel the penetrative glance being sent his way. With utmost difficulty he stopped himself from rolling up his sleeves in demonstration.

“That is true,” Hakkai said.

“I’m not doing drugs,” Sanzo said out loud, pouring himself another whiskey and lighting up. “I’m not a moron.”

“I disagree, with all due respect, but I am glad you have abstained from terminal stupidity. I do wish you didn’t smoke.”

“What, am I not going to get the health speech?” Sanzo asked when Hakkai offered no further comment and, although much of his sneering had been in jest or at least jittering on the thin edge between jest and serious intent to offend, this time his voice had gained a truly dark undertone, one which dared Hakkai, his one and only friend -- discounting Gojyo, though he probably shouldn’t count -- to risk a comment.

“I think you are well aware of the risks of smoking, Sanzo,” Hakkai replied icily. “What you do to your own body I have no control over. I will, however, have to insist that you don’t subject me to second-hand smoke.”

“Like you don’t get enough by sleeping too close to him.”

“The campaign is under way,” Hakkai just said, and Gojyo whipped around so fast his hair caught fire.

“What? What campaign?”

“You’ll find out in due time.” Hakkai had a smirk on his face that was likely aimed at unnerving but missed the intended effect by a million miles and dove straight into creepy instead. Sanzo imagined that something much like the expression was what the victims of a shark took to their watery grave. “Now, what are we watching?”

******

Sanzo, despite appearances, wasn’t entirely deprived of common sense. He knew he was being irrational. He knew he was blowing things way out of proportion and he knew -- oh god, he knew -- that were he a bystander he would have rolled his eyes and told the pathetic loser grieving for years after his lover’s demise to man up and deal. It wasn’t the end of the world, after all. He had no debts, no obligations, no on-going drama in his life, a steady income, a comfortable flat and two infuriating but loyal people, who’d stuck by him through two years of self-enforced misery.

Sanzo didn’t hate Hakkai for micromanaging his life and he didn’t hate him for getting him to leave the house now and then. Maybe, if he were better adjusted, he would have been thankful. Maybe he still would utter thanks, in a future so far he’d have to take a hoverbus to let Hakkai know anything.

The thing was -- and Sanzo liked to think this was his secret, despite all the sneaking suspicions he had of Hakkai having his number and how -- the thing was that he was quite possibly the winner of the worst adjusted human being in existence.

This was not an exaggeration: he’d been a withdrawn, sneering, insufferable child, he knew as much. Then he’d grown into a withdrawn, sneering, insufferable teenager, doomed to end his life in a boring job that he hated, stuck in an empty apartment, living on beer and snacks. Then he’d met Koumyou, who’d been zen: mellow, unfazed – even amused – by his attitude, and therefore intensely fascinating. Koumyou was the first person, first _anything_ , Sanzo had ever found himself wanting, and that was such a new and foreign sensation he had to pause to mull it over. He’d never wanted things before. He had things, sure. He got things before he could want them; he had sycophants by the bucket-load, but not many friends, and so when Koumyou entered his life he’d been smitten.

Neither had been the poster boy for romance, and that was without the student/teacher thing standing in their way, so what had happened between them had been slow like the mating of snails. Sanzo had been happy. Koumyou -- well, if Koumyou had ever been unhappy, with anything at all, he never let it show.

It was possible he’d have been smiling like a loon whilst he was being murdered. He certainly looked like a loon when the cancer decided that eating his lungs wasn’t enough and it was going after the stomach and the brain for shits and giggles. By the end he was still smiling and his smile kept haunting Sanzo long after the burial, like Koumyou had been Lewis Carrol’s Cheshire Cat. All the rest had faded, and yet the smile had remained, hovering behind every piece of furniture in Sanzo’s flat and on every glassy surface.

That was why Sanzo got rid of everything, as everything reminded him of Koumyou; every piece of polished mahogany, every Chinese scroll Koumyou was so fond of. He couldn’t bear to leave the flat, for pretty much the exact same reasons, but all the furniture went to Goodwill, along with the old fridge. The new one was the single luxury Sanzo allowed himself after Koumyou passed – his desk was cheap, the futon was cheap, the chair gave him backache, but the fridge was a huge, shiny monstrosity that took up space and consumed electricity like a Las Vegas casino.

It did keep his beer cool, though, and that was important.

******

The week that followed the single most exciting thing to happen to Sanzo in over a year was slow. Sanzo greeted Thursday with trepidation and a dollop of excitement, which he did his best to squash. Hakkai’s customary call went as usual and so at three to four Sanzo found himself in the park, under the same tree he’d sat under previously.

Half an hour later he was still sitting there, unbothered. He would have liked to say he was relieved, but the truth of the matter was becoming more and more apparent. Much as it pained him – he was rather looking forward to seeing Goku. His life was so empty and bereft of human contact that even the half an hour spent on feeling emotionally inferior to a guy who needed a dog to cross a street was a highlight.

Sanzo realised that of the past two years he’d very little, if any memories, and most of them involved Gojyo and Hakkai. One particularly memorable was of Gojyo pushing him off a platform suspended two hundred feet above a lawn and the massive row that followed.

The following month Sanzo had been pushed out of an aeroplane.

“Hi Sanzo!”

“Christ, you were supposed to be blind!”

Goku had the gall to look confused. “I don’t get it.”

“How the fuck did you know it was me?”

“Your cologne smells really nice, plus Dug barked all happy-like. He likes you.”

“I have no idea why.” Sanzo leaned his head against the tree trunk and watched Goku’s round face light up with a smile.

“Dug is real friendly, but he doesn’t _like_ like a lot of people. So when he likes you, I know you’re okay.”

“Clearly factoring in the fact that he is a dog and would slobber on anybody who offered him food, are you?” But this just reinforced Goku’s argument, rather than disprove it, as Sanzo had nothing on him that a dog would enjoy. Not even smell, as his breakfast that morning had been a beer and some crackers.

“Dug wouldn’t!”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

“I will and I’ll be right every time,” Goku said, once more demonstrating a complete lack of awareness for common human conversation milestones. Sanzo’s comment would have offended anyone, through the magic of sardonic delivery, except apparently Goku.

Sanzo shook his head. “You’re crazy,” he said.

“Absolutely. Are you hungry? I’m starving. Wanna get something to eat?”

And so Sanzo ended up following the blind guy to a kebab place, because everyone knows that eating leaking food out of a paper cone is a brilliant plan when you can’t see it drip. Of course, Sanzo’s luck was such that he was the one to dump the concoction on his own trousers, while Goku finished off by wiping a stray droplet of sauce from his nose with a napkin.

No, Sanzo didn’t believe it either. He also found it hard to believe he’d voluntarily spent time with someone outside, when Hakkai devoted hours of his time to getting him to sit under a tree for an hour each week.

“This is not a date,” he said, seconds after the horrible thought occurred to him, however his scandalised tone only got a raised brow from Goku.

“Well, duh,” Goku said. “I barely know you.”

“So long as that’s clear.”

Sanzo would think on his way back home that he should have added a vehement demand that this never be a date. Hell, he should have demanded that he never be bothered again, for as long as he lived, and that Goku move to the other side of the country, finally get a clue and start living like a normal blind person. Not like a happy freak, who went around bouncing and smiling and pretending everything was okay. Nothing was ever fucking okay and sooner or later the world would fuck the moron over and then he’d see how despicable it really was.

That reflection would come later. For now Sanzo was eager enough to grunt and murmur through a conversation Goku seemed to be having with the dog.

It was something of a shock to realize the monkey -- he was a monkey, not matter what ha had to say about it -- was speaking to him, when he used a tone Sanzo’s would have called condescending, if it wasn’t for the fact this kid looked to be as capable of being condescending as he was of flying.

“Are you under the impression I’m ten?” Sanzo asked, just to make sure.

“No, most ten-year-olds I know don’t have such filthy mouths.”

“Clearly, you live in the better part of town.”

“Like you don’t?”

“I’m also not a dog. Try to speak like an adult.”

“Sorry. I don’t get to speak to people much,” Goku said, blushing. “Even I’m not deluded enough to expect dogs to talk back, though.”

“Even you?”

“Everyone always says I’m too happy and optimistic, and that it can’t end well, but I dunno, so far it’s worked out great for me.”

“Except for being blind,” Sanzo said, not really caring how loathsome it must have sounded. “You can’t tell me that’s a picnic.”

Goku was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah. I mean no, it isn’t. ‘S why I’m so happy I’ve got Dug now, he’s awesome.”

“He’s a dog.”

“That’s why it’s awesome. He doesn’t have to think about staying, cuz he’s my dog, and he loves me, so he stays no matter what.”

“He’s a dog,” Sanzo repeated. “He doesn’t think.”

“Now, that’s bullshit! Dogs think, and they have feelings, too. Just because he doesn’t write emo poetry doesn’t mean he’s never sad.”

This was a sentiment Sanzo had encountered from many dog owners. Hard to believe when the bundles of stinky fur seemed to have two faces, one panting and one growling, to show the world. “Dogs look the same to me.”

“That’s because you never had one.” Goku grinned his distracting grin and produced a doggy treat out of thin air. “Look at his eyes.”

Sanzo looked and yeah, the mutt was following the treat with his eyes, which crinkled at the corners. His grin got even wider, but still the dog made no move towards the cookie, or whatever it was. He just looked and – Sanzo was willing to bet – chanted “gimmegimmegimme” inside. When the treat was offered on an open palm Dug took it with one long swipe of the tongue. His grin was so wide, it transcended his muzzle.

“See? He liked this treat! You can’t tell me you didn’t see it.”

“And you know this how? He didn’t even bark.”

“Same way I know you don’t really mind sitting here, with me,” Goku said looking at Sanzo seriously. “I got a feeling.”

“That’s idiotic. Of course I mind,” Sanzo started to say, but was interrupted by a high-pitched whine from Dug. Goku started and turned his whole attention to the mutt, muttering questions he wasn’t going to get an answer to, and growing more and more agitated when the dog started swaying where he sat.

There was a dart sticking out from his side. Goku’s fingers encountered it seconds before Dug collapsed into his master’s arms. “Dug!” he cried, hugging the animal to his chest.

Before the scene could degenerate into sidewalk melodrama, there was a whooshing sound, no louder than the buzz of a mosquito, and a second dart appeared, this one in the side of Goku’s neck. Sanzo saw Goku turn in his direction with eyes widened enough to transmit more question marks than should be possible, before something bit his neck as well.

“Oh fuck,” he said before everything disappeared.

TBC  


* * *

Sanzo woke up in the back of a moving van. His hands and feet were free, there was no sign of blood, and he still had all his toes and fingers, though the former he inferred from the fact that his shoes were still on and there was no suspicious dampness within. Somewhat nervously he checked his head for ears. They were still in place. His head didn’t hurt much, and aside from the tendrils of sleepiness he felt he was fine. He hoped he was fine, at the very least.

Somewhere to the left there was a groan and then a bark.

“Could this get any worse,” Sanzo asked the ceiling, as Goku picked himself up to a sitting position and started scratching Dug behind the ears.

“We could’ve been shot. That would be bad.”

“I am astounded by your perceptiveness. What else would be bad, do tell, otherwise I might stick my fingers in the sockets just to see if candy falls out.”

“Don’t go wailing on me, this isn’t my fault!”

“What, so it’s mine now?”

“Hey, I’m hardly worth a kidnapping. You’re the guy who lives in the posh house.”

“It’s not like you live in such a lousy neighbourhood, either!”

“Yeah, but my flat is a shoebox and I’m on disability.”

Dug, feeling left out, woofed.

“Awesome. The dog has an opinion.”

“Where are we, by the way?”

“In a stuffy, moving van. That has light in it. That’s all I know.”

“Oh.”

“You presence of mind astounds.”

******

The ride was long. Goku curled up on the convenient heap of rugs and fell asleep again, with one hand still buried in Dug’s fur. Dug, being a simple-minded dog and therefore unable to understand the circumstances, snuggled to his master and also slept. Sanzo watched the two of them with envy. He’d slept so little the past years, he was done after four hours at a time, and only their kidnapper and anyone hired by him to do the monitoring knew how long they’d been out.

He was counting the bolts on the van’s door for the seventh time when sudden inspiration struck him and he went through his pockets. He had no mobile phone, unsurprising, since he exited the flat without one, but he did have his wallet. Whoever kidnapped them, clearly thought that leaving them cash and credit cards was a great idea. This was potentially a blessing in disguise – if they were so stupid that they didn’t think to leave them without means to travel, they deserved to fail at kidnapping and whatever it was they planned to accomplish by the kidnapping. Ransom seemed less and less like an option, given that Sanzo, being over twenty-five and of sound mind and managerial skills, was the sole manager of his trust fund and whatever he earned on the side was also his alone. It would have been infinitely more sensible to just break into his house and force him to cough up the account numbers at gunpoint.

Blackmail was always an option, but since everybody and their mother knew the great soon-to-be prime minister had a fag for an only son, hardly worth the kidnapping. Which left what, exactly? Possibly some extremist demanding that daddy dear step down, but whom were they kidding? Sanzo’s father would notify the police first, and then play the media into such a frenzy of sympathy that even when a video of the terrorist or whatever leaked to youtube, on which Sanzo was gruesomely executed with the explicit message that this was because daddy didn’t care enough, his career prospects would have soared.

Which reminded Sanzo that he ought to send mum a postcard.

The van rolled to a stop eventually without a clue as to what was the purpose of the rest. Sanzo couldn’t hear anything indicating a pit stop, or the noises of a petrol station, so that was out. In fact the only sound he could hear were the occasional snore and every now and then a very precise, military stride.

Well, this was worrying. Sanzo stepped over Goku and tried the door. It was locked. A sudden inspiration told him to look under the rubber, which covered the space by the door, and bingo – he discovered a screwdriver.

“Sanzo?” Goku asked behind him, but Sanzo paid him no mind. The crude lock gave after a repeated stabbing and fell open with a clank. Sanzo held the door for a heartbeat, praying the noise didn’t attract any of the soldiery types. When no attention was evident he opened the door wider and looked around.

It was sunny. It was beyond sunny, in fact – when his eyes got used to the glare it became evident that they were in the middle of some sort of desert and the eggs could be fried on any given stone. This was worrying, as Sanzo had no idea where around London could such a desert be located. The terrain indicated nowhere in particular, just sand and more sand, in any given direction.

“Tell the dog to be quiet,” he said, and, as silently as he could, stepped out of the van. Far in the direction of the sun there was a small hut with an antenna sticking out of its rooftop. It would only be sensible to expect a satellite phone inside. His reasoning didn’t really get much further than that, because just then he heard footsteps coming round and – out of the corner of his eye – he saw a cloud of dust on the horizon.

Not for the last time Sanzo wondered what the hell was he doing there. If it turned out he was staring in some reality show designed to fuck with rich people, he was going to be pissed and sue. If this was some sort of a game, he was going to shoot first and than sue. As it were, in the absence of a gun, he settled for stabbing the nearest tyre with the screwdriver, grabbing Goku’s hand and running like hell.

“Run!” he yelled, as though his plan wasn’t obvious enough.

It wasn’t one of his best ideas, he supposed, dragging a cripple along with him for a run for his life. The only thing he was hoping for at the moment, since hoping for the alarm clock to ring and wake him up from this nightmare was clearly too much, was that Goku’s disability didn’t extend past his vision and his brain.

That, and the dog had enough brain cells not to trip them both.

They ran, through the blinding sun and the sharp edges of some plants Sanzo wouldn’t care about even if he were a botanist. The sun was merciless; as it had fried the surface of the plateau for thousands of years it glared on their heads now and, slowly but surely, Sanzo knew he was succumbing to the heatwave. His breath was shortening, it was a matter of time before he lost his footing and tumbled into a scorpion breeding ground, such was his luck that day.

To his utmost annoyance though Goku’s hand was clammy in his what he heard of his breath over the wheezing sound of his own weren’t the rasps and gasps of a terminal cancer patient he expected, but the measured exhalation of an athlete.

The fucking cripple was in much better shape than he was, Sanzo realised with no small amount of irritation, though his inner voice of sarcasm and reason piped up to remind him this was his own doing, entirely – an hour a week in a park was hardly a workout.

Dug howled all of sudden and dug his paws into the ground, leaving Sanzo a fraction of a second to yell a profanity and try and stop. His flailing accomplished one thing – he shoved Goku aside, into a protruding rock as it turned out, which quite possibly saved all of their lives.

Dug’s paws fought to find purchase on the slippery sand, but the flimsy layer of dust atop naked rock offered none, and with a howl he went over the cliff, Sanzo following suit.

For a moment, which tampered into an eternity on one end, Sanzo could hear nothing aside from roaring of blood in his ears. Then it occurred to him that his right arm was strained to the point of the tendons ripping in half, and that the fingers of his left were going numb.

Then he heard his name, then the dog’s.

Well, fuck, he thought.

“Sanzo! Dug!”

“Shut up,” Sanzo said with effort and opened his eyes. He closed them immediately. Fuck, fuck, fuck, bad idea. He tilted his head as far as his shoulder, which screamed in pain, would allow and opened them again.

Well, it could have been worse. He was hanging by the very edge of the cliff. If he’d taken Hakkai’s offer way back and gone to the gym, he might have been able to pull himself up now. “If” being the keyword.

“Are you okay?”

“Shut up.” Sanzo took a breath, or at least tried to, because what arrived in his lungs wouldn’t be enough to oxygenate a monkey’s brain. Very carefully he started swinging his left arm, mentally willing the dog to shut the hell up. He could barely think as it were. “Stay where you are, I’m throwing Dug.”

“Shit, Sanzo, you’re barely alive-”

“ _Shut up and catch the damn dog!_ ”

Sanzo was fucking proud of himself. He’d managed to get all that out and hoist the dumb mutt into Goku’s face, so that not even the visually challenged moron could miss it, before his arm finally gave and he lost his grip on the convenient rock.

When two seconds later he was still hanging and not splattering on the jagged rocks below, he was very, very surprised. Goku was holding him, he realised, and not just that: he was pulling him up by the arm, which really couldn’t take any more abuse.

Sanzo blacked out when his shoulder gave one final screech of agony and the bone popped out of its socket. He came to seconds later, judging by the lack of any change whatsoever, except his position. Blessed horizontality. He was lying on top of the cliff, by some miracle, with his face pressed into the ground. He flopped onto his back wearily, when it occurred to him he was breathing dirt.

Goku was very close, judging by the enthusiastic dog-noises coming from Sanzo’s right. He risked a glance and regretted it immediately when the sun shoved golden ice picks through his brain. The second attempt was slightly better – he could now see a golden spot hovering over a darker shape, both of which were making yippy sounds. Though his vision still was bleary, Sanzo could tell Dug was doing his best to lick the skin off Goku’s face. Fucking animals.

“Sanzo,” he heard and opened his eyes for the third time, preparing for the worst glare of the sun yet, but finding the celestial body of malice completely blocked by Goku’s head. “Sanzo. Oh god. Thank you so much!” Goku kept murmuring thankyous and clearly his brain had gone, because in between the fervent gratitude he started kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

Figures that the only action Sanzo had seen in over two years would taste of dog.

“Stop that,” he said without much enthusiasm.

“Thank you for saving Dug,” Goku said one more time, gripping Sanzo’s arm so tightly Sanzo could practically hear his capillaries bursting. “Thank you.”

Sanzo stared at the sky. “If you so much as breathe a word of it to anyone, especially Hakkai and Gojyo, I will kill the dog and make you watch.”

What do you know, the idiot laughed through the tears.

“You wouldn’t do that,” he said as if he had the slightest inkling of what Sanzo would and would not do. As if he knew Sanzo!

“I sure as hell would. Do you want to know what I wouldn’t do? I certainly wouldn’t risk my life to save a goddamned mutt.”

“Dug is pure-blooded.”

“Shut up.”

Goku wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, which he then put on Dug’s head. “How’s your arm?”

Sanzo sat up cautiously. His left wasn’t too bad, hurt like a bitch, but other than the purplish colour of the pads of his fingers it was fine. His right, on the other hand, ha-ha, very funny, made him want to scream with each move. “I’ll live.” It was moving, he realised with some surprise. Despite the pain he had free use of his right hand. This went against everything he knew about dislocated shoulders. “It works.”

“Oh good. I thought it’s okay, but I’m not a medic or nothing, so I was worried.”

“It must’ve popped right back in,” Sanzo said out loud and flopped right back onto the hard ground. At this point whatever they did when they captured them would require them doing the work, not Sanzo, because he couldn’t move a muscle to save his life.

Fuck, his arse was just rescued by a blind guy. This had to be a new low.

Then the chasing party caught up and Sanzo decided that being thrown in the back of a desert truck, onto a pile of relatively clean bags, side-by-side with a dozen bottles of mineral water was the best part of his day. Even with the dog deciding that he was its new best friend. He fell asleep seconds after draining a whole bottle of water – he was only conscious long enough to feel Goku curling up next to him, close enough to touch, and he was out of commission.

He was too exhausted to dream, though he found some comfort in the shapeless, nameless cloud of warm light that surrounded him as soon as the drifted to sleep.

******

Sanzo was woken by a very annoying and, unfortunately, very familiar voice. He only had enough time to think “thank god, it was all a dream,” before he realised that his everything ached like a bitch and he could barely move as a result, his mouth felt like something crawled inside it and died and everything in the vicinity smelled of dog.

“Is he okay?” Hakkai asked, presumably because he had been blinded in the recent past.

“I think so. We had a bit of trouble,” Goku said. Sanzo could feel Dug wag his tail in enthusiasm, just begging to be allowed to speak and recount their little adventure.

“Shut up,” he said sitting up. He hurt. His arms hurt. His legs hurt. He was, inexplicably, hungry. He wanted to kill something. Three people yelled, said and said his name in unison. “Goddamned class reunion.”

Hakkai smiled politely from his corner of the van. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” he asked, as though that was the etiquette when you found yourself sitting in a locked container on its way to fuck knows where.

“This is Hakkai, Satan in training,” Sanzo said, grabbing Goku’s arm and jerking him in the appropriate direction, “That’s his minion, I’ve forgotten his name, and this is the guy who’s been harassing me. He says his name is Goku, I have yet to see a photo ID.”

The dog barked. Sanzo rolled his eyes. “The mutt’s Dug.”

“We can see it’s a dog, does it have a name? Mine’s Gojyo, by the way,” Gojyo told Goku holding out his hand and waiting expectantly. “Oi, hello? It’s not that dark in here.”

“I’m blind,” Goku said, once more displaying endless patience for his condition. Sanzo, were he bothered by the mundane details of human interaction, would be wildly jealous. He started using language fit for a dock at the second mention of his apparent lack of social skills. “It’s dark enough for me. And his name is Duug, not Dog. He’s my guide.”

Gojyo, instead of shutting up and mulling over his faux pas, like a sane person would, grinned. “That makes a world of difference. Hey, why are you even here, I didn’t know Sanzo knew any people other than us? Unless this is some freaking dating service, which still doesn’t explain what are we doing here?”

Sanzo didn’t have to look at Goku’s face to know his smile was as radiant as the core of Chernobyl power plant. “Right now Sanzo is my hero. And I really have no idea. I was walking Dug when I saw Sanzo and we both woke up in the back of a van.”

“Sanzo’s your hero? For fuck’s sake, kid, rethink that! I know he seems cool with his nihilistic attitude and smart ass commentary, but that’s nothing to be admired in the long run.”

“Shut up,” Sanzo said, seeing that Goku was about to recount the embarrassing tale of dogs and cliffs and pain in the sun.

“I totally want to hear it!”

“You can’t.”

“C’mon, Sanzo!”

“No.”

Hakkai looked up from where he was rubbing circles into the fur on Dug’s neck. “Gojyo, if it’s a secret, then it best remain a secret.”

“Come on, it’s killing me here. Don’t tell me you’re hanging around him for his looks, ‘cause I’ve gotta say, it’s not worth it!”

Goku grinned. “Nah, from what I understand he looks like the lovechild of Moe the bartender and Krusty the Clown. He sounds like it, at least.”

This time even Hakkai looked up, first to exchange glances with Gojyo, then to stare at Sanzo, who scowled. Once upon a time he might have been proud of his looks, stressing “might”, because if he was vain it was because he was a grade smarter than anyone he had ever met, save for Koumyou. His looks were secondary, which, in retrospect, might have been precisely because they attracted the attention of every moron and their dog, present company included, thank you very much.

“Dude,” Gojyo said, following the syllable with a sentence so ridiculous Sanzo immediately forgave him three future offences – such a level of idiocy deserved a little leeway, “Hey Hakkai, don’t we have any decent pictures of Sanzo to show him?”

Goku bit his lip and before Gojyo had the chance to realise what he’d said, the monkey burst out laughing. Even Sanzo could stop the snigger, which evolved into an actual laugh when Gojyo’s brain caught up to his mouth – wheezing and gasping – and smacked him upside the empty head. “Oh Jesus fuck,” Gojyo said, mortified for once, and Hakkai joined in on the mirth, chuckling to himself while his partner fumbled for apologies.

“You love the taste of your own foot, don’t you,” Goku said, when he finally caught his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Gojyo said.

Goku reached out and patted his head, the way Sanzo saw him pat the dog from time to time. “Don’t worry about it. It was funny.”

“So making fun of you not being able to see is okay when it’s funny? Why hasn’t anyone sent me that memo before? So many wasted years walking right past people on wheelchairs when I could have been laughing my ass off…”

“Hey, laugh all you want, but I’m the guy with a trained dog on a short leash.”

“Please, like the mutt could hurt anything bigger than a fly.”

“Oh, so he could hurt your brain then.”

“Why you little!”

“I can tell they are going to be best friends, don’t you?” Hakkai whispered in Sanzo’s ear as they watched a scuffle break out.

Sanzo could see that, and for some reason the thought made something in his chest tighten. A moment’s consideration revealed it was his heart that suddenly decided to develop an opinion, after years and years of keeping its attention focused on pumping blood alone.

“I like him,” Hakkai added, and Sanzo damn near socked him one.

TBC  


* * *

The van must have chosen a less travelled road, because it jumped occasionally, sending the four of them flying into one another.

“Where do you suppose we’re going?” Hakkai asked, holding onto the walls.

“Better question: where do you suppose we are?” Gojyo jumped, hitting his head on the wall as the van surged forward.

“Judging by the heat, I’d say we are somewhere south.”

“Everyone is suddenly a geography professor.”

“I wish you wouldn’t descend into sarcasm, Sanzo.”

“Usually I’m morbid, so I’d imagine sarcasm is more of an ascent.”

“There is that to consider, true.”

Sanzo looked at Goku, who had unscrewed the cap of one of the bottles and was attempting to water the dog, possibly in the idiotic hope that he would grow. He was doing quite a good job, considering the van was moving, the dog was a dog, and there were no bowls to be seen.

“How long have you had Dug?” Hakkai asked, turning his attention to the spectacle.

“Half a year, give or take. Got him early in December, with the training and all I took him home for real in January.”

“It takes a month to train a guide dog?”

“As if!” Goku laughed and Dug sat up, smacking his black nose with his tongue. “They start training as puppies, they are with a family then, for about a year. Then they go to a centre for more training and then about a month with the new owner. That’s so they are sure I won’t accidentally kill him.”

“He certainly has better manners than some people I know.”

“Oh, Dug is totally awesome.”

“I can tell.”

“Is this supposed to be some sort of a slight?” Sanzo asked.

“No, it’s supposed to be an opinion. Dug certainly wouldn’t be so ill-mannered as to be caught smoking in the company of non-smokers.”

“Yes, perhaps you’d like to be reintroduced to the fact that he is a dog?” Sanzo asked, simultaneously realising a crucial and painful fact: he had no cigarettes. This was a problem. “Gojyo, do you have smokes?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Share.”

“You are not smoking in the van,” Hakkai and Goku said at the same time. “Dug doesn’t like smoke,” Goku continued, scrunching up his nose at Sanzo, in what was supposed to be a glare, but ended up as a bunny impression.

“Like I care what a dog likes!” Sanzo fumed but pretty much abandoned the idea of smoking, at least until open space was available.

“How did you two meet, anyway?” Gojyo had made himself comfortable on the pile of rags, mindless as usual.

“He threw a tennis ball at my head and then had the dog slobber on me.”

“Really? Damn. Is there any CCTV around where that happened?”

“I will kill you,” Sanzo said.

“No, you won’t.” Gojyo grinned brightly and Goku, who was disturbingly attuned to his frequencies, grinned too.

Sanzo turned around so that he didn’t have to see the creepers. He jumped when something cold and wet touched the back of his neck, ready to lash out verbally and physically, but of course cursing out a puppy-eyed dog wouldn’t make him feel any better. Dug lay down with his head on Sanzo’s knee and Sanzo tried not to move to much. Dogs were dogs, barely more than a wolf at the best of times; there was no telling what could have set him off into a biting mode.

“He is an adorable creature, is he not?”

“Adorable like a muscle spasm, possibly.”

“Sanzo.”

“Were you expecting me to turn into a fluffy bunny? I’m supposed to start jumping up and down and clapping my hands?”

“Altogether no, thank you. I like my sanity intact.” Hakkai paused and then smiled. “I do find it endearing that Dug likes you this much. I never figured you for a dog person.”

Sanzo snorted.

“No, honestly. I was envisioning you as the crazy cat lady.”

“How is that we are even speaking, I wonder sometimes?”

“So do I, believe me.” Hakkai smiled and Sanzo might have frozen, again, because despite his attitude he – goddamn it – treasured Hakkai and his stupid moron boyfriend, too. He would have frozen, but Hakkai’s eyes were unusually kind and understanding.

“I hate you,” Sanzo said turning away again.

“Indeed.”

The van rolled to a stop with a final bump that sent the five of them onto one unhappy pile. The door sprung open and a menacing shadow in a military uniform with a large gun held across the chest blocked the view. “Out,” it said, shoving the door aside.

They staggered onto the uneven cobbles, cursing as they went. The trip had been long and stretching room hard to come by.

“Don’t move,” said the soldier. Dug growled and then barked and then quieted, choosing instead to loll out his tongue and pant. Stupid, useless mutt, Sanzo thought grimly. So what if he had to be calm enough to handle being out with the public; a normal dog should have been leaping for the throat by now, and no excuses.

He looked around, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the glaring sun. They were standing on a flat slab of dirt, only different from the dirt around by being completely barren – every square inch of the surroundings was covered with more green than Sanzo would have imagined in his worst nightmares. They were somewhere in the jungle, he realised with a start, and the jungle was terrifying. Even in the bright sun there was something lurking in the depths, hidden by every fucking insignificant leaf.

“Fuck,” Sanzo said to no one in particular and demanded a cigarette from Gojyo.

“Is it me,” Hakkai asked,” or is the security here remarkably lax?”

“It’s you.”

“No, I’m serious. I think there’s only a couple of soldiers guarding us.”

“A couple of soldiers with huge fucking guns. You might want to recalculate that.”

“I am, believe me, but I’m thinking they won’t be so keen on shooting us.”

“How much are you willing to bet on this?”

Hakkai straightened. “Plenty. You don’t kidnap people and take them halfway round the world to shoot them in the jungle. Not when you can shoot them where they stand back home.”

There was some truth in that, Sanzo allowed cautiously. Whatever else was going on here, they were more valuable alive then dead. “What were you thinking?”

“There’s a little town just across this forest.”

Sanzo had long since given up on being surprised by what Hakkai could induce from minor geographical details. If he looked closely then perhaps he would have agreed that there seemed to be signs of human inhabitation – the green wall of the jungle was even and, here and there, there were little plaques that said something Sanzo assumed to mean “stay away, or your eyeballs will fall out”. So maybe Hakkai was right. “You mean the jungle,” he said, just to be contrary.

“Jungles are forests.”

“Forests dripping with poisonous plants, rats the size of horses and other lethal monstrosities.”

“I’d imagine so, but as I said, this place seems to be a parking lot, and the town is not far off. The road sign says so.”

“The road sign says so?”

“Quarter of a mile. I think we might hike our way up there, purchase a vehicle and take our leave.”

“Even though we have no idea where we are, and where we’re going?”

“Would you rather wait for the big men with bigger guns to enlighten you?”

Sanzo looked over his shoulder at Gojyo and Goku, who were fighting again. Dug was watching their exchange with canine glee on his face, like he was watching a particularly hilarious ping-pong match.

“Where would we go?” Sanzo asked.

Hakkai gave him a long look, one that attempted to communicate annoyance and exasperation. Because he was Hakkai, it was a splendid attempt. “I was considering an airport, but if you have a better idea…”

“Did it occur to you perhaps that we have no passports?”

“Right, that is a deterrent. Let me think.” Hakkai fell silent, tapping the side of his face with his forefinger. “That’s still worth trying. We might run into an embassy on our way.”

“Why certainly, embassies is the first thing built in the middle of a jungle, as opposed to, say, bars and casinos,” Sanzo said, rolling his eyes. Right then one of the soldiers wandered across the space between the two vans and Sanzo dropped his cigarette onto the ground. “Fuck that. Let’s move.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Shut up.”

******

Ditching their guardians proved to be embarrassingly easy. Sanzo’s carelessly dropped fag set the dehydrated grass on fire, attracting the attention of the goons, and giving the four – five – of them enough smokescreen to disappear, first behind the vans and then into the jungle. Gojyo, of all people, had the foresight to grab a couple bottles of water from the van and, as they ducked into the darkness and death, Sanzo was grateful, because there was no way he was touching anything that was in contact with the greenery.

Dug, on the other hand, the stupid mutt that he was, had no such reservations. He sniffed out a leaf brimming with translucent liquid and happily lapped at it, mindless of the myriads of poisons that could have been hidden therein.

“You might want to rein the dog in,” Sanzo told Goku quietly. “He’s drinking from a poisonous leaf.” He didn’t anticipate Goku jumping three feet in the air in panic and whipping around so fast Sanzo’s head was spinning.

“Dug!” Goku called, his fingers tightening on Gojyo’s arm. “Dug!”

“Be quiet for fuck’s sake.”

“Okay, everybody, shut up.” Gojyo waved a hand in front of Sanzo’s face. “You, shut up. Goku, relax. Dug is fine. Dogs aren’t that stupid. It’s just a leaf and it’s just rainwater. Sanzo is paranoid.”

“I’m paranoid?”

“Perhaps it didn’t occur to you, but we aren’t exactly on virgin ground here,” Hakkai interjected without turning around. “This is a tourist tract. I’m sure most really poisonous things have been burned to the ground.”

Goku relaxed but still called Dug to him again and the mutt arrived, bouncing over the gnarly roots with his tongue lolling out. “Be careful, Dug,” Goku said, before taking Gojyo’s arm and following Hakkai. He moved with surprising agility, as though the roots and rocks weren’t even there. It took Sanzo a moment to connect that with Dug’s occasional brushes against his shin and Gojyo’s muttered comments. Sanzo stared at them for a long moment, confused by the myriads of thoughts swirling in his brain. He looked down, only to find Dug studying him with an intent gaze.

“Shut up,” Sanzo said and followed the rest of the group.

******

The town was tinier than tiny. It was slightly bigger than miniscule, which was something, Sanzo supposed. If it had been a miniscule town there would have been no hope of them getting any mode of transport that wasn’t a camel of a llama, but they found something here.

Hakkai waved to the peasant standing closest to the green Jeep and said something that even to Sanzo sounded offensive, but clearly the man was amused rather than offended. Possibly by Hakkai’s mangling of the language. Sanzo could swear he had no clue what was going on, but soon enough the man nodded and yelled something in the direction of what passed for a building in these parts. A young woman emerged, cradling something in her hands, something that turned out to be a wireless credit card terminal.

“What,” Sanzo asked, “the fuck?”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, where have you been?” Gojyo quipped merrily. “How much did it go for?”

“Six hundred bolivares fuertes, and it’s a rental. Sanzo, if you would be so kind?”

Sanzo rolled his eyes but produced his credit card and proceeded to sign the chit when the terminal beeped its agreement. “You realise we have no plans to returning,” he hissed in Hakkai’s direction.

“Absolutely. Who do you take me for? We will call when we change our mode of transportation and provide precise GPS coordinates. This is why we are being grossly overcharged, by the way. I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Sanzo didn’t mind. He had money to spare, and Hakkai was the picture of a sensible, even circumspect, spender, by anyone’s standard, and Sanzo would have had no money woes even without his unfortunate familial connections. Hakkai also seemed to be aware of the current exchange rates for this bizarre local currency in wherever the hell they were. “You are assuming we will have a phone to call with.”

“Again, Sanzo, twenty-first century. Do try and contemporize.” Hakkai picked up a device from the seat of the Jeep. “State of the art, provides both the coordinates and telecommunication. It would probably be wisest to refrain from communication until we know where we stand, mind.”

“Whatever. How is that we will call, leave coordinates, and escape before the freaks with guns rush in?”

“The plan is for us to be onboard the plane when we make the call.”

“Hey, where are we anyway?” Goku asked. Sanzo jumped. He’d almost forgotten they had baggage, tried to, in any case.

“If I’m not mistaken, Venezuela.”

Goku gaped. “But isn’t Venezuela on the other side of the world? Completely?”

“It depends how you understand completely. It certainly is in South America, but not quite on the opposite side of the globe.”

“You know what I mean!”

“In that case, yes, you are correct. We seem to have crossed the Atlantic Ocean.”

Goku scratched his neck. “I don’t remember being on a boat. What time is it anyway?”

“Good question.” Hakkai unlocked the mobile phone and fiddled with the keypad. “It would seem that we crossed the ocean and a substantial distance on land in under twenty-four hours, which leads me to believe we took a plane.”

“We took a plane? Seriously? Then why the hell don’t we remember anything?” Gojyo folded his arms across his chest and glared at no one in particular. “Seriously, what gives?”

“I do believe the phrase is ‘beats me’.”

“Wonderful. Just – Hakkai, you had nothing to do with it, right?”

For once in his life Sanzo applauded Gojyo. The thought hadn’t occurred to him, though now that it was voiced and vibrating in the air he saw it for the obvious truth that it must have been.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said conversationally, this close to losing his cool.

Hakkai, however, was unperturbed. “I had nothing whatsoever to do with this, although I do confess kidnapping has crossed my mind, once or twice.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“You know me, I should think, dear.”

“You expect me to believe that I find myself in the middle of an Indiana Jones movie and you had nothing whatsoever to do with it?” Sanzo stole the pack of cigarettes from Gojyo’s hands and lit up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No. I am not. Besides, I’d hardly call this Indiana Jones, as I have yet to see an ancient temple or an evil cultist.”

“But those guys with guns sure could be Nazis.”

“They seem entirely too young and their haircuts indicate otherwise.”

“What’s wrong with their haircuts?” Goku asked.

“They have them, in short.”

“Whaz that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t you watch the news? Didn’t you, I mean?” Gojyo waved his fag in a complicated pattern. “All the dicks who subscribe to the broken windmill philosophy are bald.”

“Gojyo, that’s an unfair generalisation.”

This had all the markings of a heated discussion that would continue long after the starting topic had breathed its last and went under the messy current of the argument, gasping for breath. Sanzo rolled his eyes. “Can we go? I really don’t want to find out what the fuckers want with me until I’ve got a team of lawyers on my side.”

“I don’t have lawyers,” Goku said meekly when Gojyo guided him into the car. “Are we in any trouble?”

“I do believe Sanzo intends to sue whoever is responsible for our ordeal,” Hakkai said taking the driver’s seat.

“No kidding. Someone is getting a lawsuit the length of the frigging Orinoco.”

“I applaud your sudden geographical competence.”

“I applaud you shutting up and getting us the hell out of here,” Sanzo said, taking all the available space on the front seat, beside Hakkai.

“Is everyone secure?” Hakkai asked, turning around. Sanzo chanced a glance. The two brittle-brains in the backseat were sprawled all over the seats, with the dog stretched out on the floor.

“We’re good,” Goku said, patting Dug.

“Wonderful.” Hakkai turned the key in the ignition and the engine sputtered, coughed, wheezed and finally came alive, and the Jeep sprung forward while its passengers held on to their heads as inertia threatened to rip them off.

“Do you even have a licence?” Sanzo yelled over the roar of the engine as they shot into a road leading away from the village. The thick canopy of the jungle obscured the sun and Sanzo clenched his eyes shut. They were all going to die, every last one, and it wouldn’t be the insane kidnappers who’d be responsible, but Hakkai’s reckless driving.

“You know I do!” Hakkai yelled, swerving to avoid a protruding root.

“Well, do you have a licence that you didn’t print yourself for a quid in a print-shop!”

“I am wounded by the implication!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck!”

In the rear-view mirror Sanzo saw Gojyo and Goku clinging to the sides of the car, in the vain hope that their puny muscles were strong enough to withstand the insane forces generated by Hakkai’s use of the accelerator. Morons.

Before long the thick, green canopy gave way to the clear blue sky again and the four of them, to say nothing of the dog, sprang onto a narrow rocky road, flanked on both sides by a jungle so thing it was more like a uniform green wall. This was a small improvement, Sanzo felt, especially when the left side of the road suddenly disappeared, without warning, leaving them on a narrow shelf hugging the impenetrable forest.

“I hate you!” Sanzo screamed when the road grew so narrow that, were he to lean outside on his side of the car, would be staring into an abyss of jagged rocks and poisonous vines. “I hate your fucking guts!”

“No, you don’t!” Hakkai yelled back, while on the backseat Gojyo whooped with his primate brain.

“This is not funny!”

“It’s hilarious!” Gojyo slapped Goku’s shoulder and yelled something in his direction, something that the wind blew all the way down the cliff. Goku laughed in response and Dug, with his flawless timing, howled. Sanzo hated them all.

TBC  


* * *

 

Even with the recklessness of Hakkai’s driving, the journey could only last so long; at least that’s what Sanzo told himself in an effort not to jump out and be done with it. Whoever had thought Hakkai should be allowed to share the road with other people was clearly a few marbles short.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the cliff ended and the Jeep was hidden among the trees again, periodically emerging into clearings, to soak up the sun. If Sanzo didn’t know any better, he would have sworn the damn thing was solar-powered. Then something else occurred to him, something much more worrying.

“Do we even know where are we going?” he asked Hakkai.

“In a manner of speaking,” Hakkai yelled back.

“The fuck?”

“There weren’t any signs, exactly, and I didn’t want to ask specific questions in case we were followed.”

“Great.” So now they were going to get lost in the jungle in an effort to evade their captors, who so far hadn’t shot them, hadn’t tried to poison them, and in fact – barring the obvious non-consent issue – had been rather careful with their well-being. Sanzo was beginning to think he was betting on the wrong horse here.

He stayed silent, pondering the odds of them emerging out of this disaster alive, when Hakkai slammed the brakes and the Jeep skidded to a stop with a dramatic half-turn.

“What,” Sanzo asked, spitting each syllable with care, “the fuck?”

“It is a little embarrassing,” Hakkai said with an embarrassed laugh, “but I honestly don’t know where I’m supposed to go now.”

“Wow,” Gojyo said from the backseat, and Sanzo turned to inquire just what was it that had him so awed, because the expected irony seemed to be missing from his voice.

He followed Gojyo’s gaze and discovered, to his immense surprise, a shadow among the trees; a grey, straight-edged shaped that looked anything but natural.

“Now that’s just great, if we wanted a human sacrifice,” Sanzo muttered, but clearly his voice of reason counted for naught in this company, because Gojyo was already jerking Goku by the arm and out of the car, with the dog following. And Hakkai was rummaging in the trunk for provisions.

“Relax, Sanzo,” Gojyo called. “Live a little!”

“Am trying to and you are not making it easy.”

“Come, on we’re not that bad!”

“On a scale of one to ten, you are a twenty.”

“I love the guy,” Gojyo told Goku. “With friends like him I never have to worry about having enemies.”

“Why, does he scare them off?”

“No, but he is a crash-course in managing adversity,” Gojyo said in his best Hakkai-voice.

“Hilarious. Can someone please explain why are we sightseeing instead of getting somewhere civilised?”

“Part of the reason might be that we seem to have lost the road,” Hakkai said. “Another is that we are in Venezuela, it would be a crime to let this opportunity go to waste.”

“If I get shot, I will sue you.”

“Duly noted.” Hakkai made a beeline for the ruins, pausing now and then to admire a scrap of rock that to Sanzo looked like a moss farm.

The shape peaking through the foliage turned out to be merely the front wall to a grander complex, the top to a pyramid, one with aqueducts and stairs and a plaza at its base. The jungle had long since made it its own, so now the surface of every grey rock was green, or, in few select cases, shimmering with every colour of the rainbow.

“It does look bewitching, you have to admit,” Hakkai said.

Sanzo was reluctant to agree, though it was a losing battle. “It’d have been better with a payphone.”

“It’s not like we have any local change.”

Their conversation was cut short with a growl, one that made them both jump. They turned as one, expecting to see a charging rhinoceros – though why Sanzo’s brain made that connection, he wasn’t sure – and finding nothing but a blind monkey with a dog.

“Sorry,” Goku said, colouring. “I’m hungry.”

“We seem to be out of kebabs,” Sanzo said.

“Where are we, anyway?”

“We’ve narrowed it down to Venezuela.”

“I knew that. Didn’t Hakkai say we have GPS?”

“Yes, he did, and I’m sure he can quote the coordinates, so when the rescue finally comes they will have no trouble locating our putrefied corpses.”

“Oh.” Goku considered, coughed in embarrassment when his stomach growled again, and then asked, “Does putrefied mean what I think it means?”

“Probably. Are we going down?” Gojyo asked.

“No,” Sanzo said at the same moment Hakkai said “yes.”

“Do we have time for this?”

“Don’t we have time for this?”

“How is it that you are treating this as a recreational trip? Did kidnapping become a hip way of travelling when I wasn’t looking?”

“No, but it does seem to me that there is no point in cultivating fear. Best we can do is enjoy ourselves and hope not to get shot.”

“Because that’s going to work so well, when they catch up and see we’ve escaped to go for a walk.”

“Certainly better than if they catch up with us and decide to stop us from going for a walk ever again.”

“Oh, I see. Did you share their ‘how to be an evil overlord seminar’?”

“Hakkai is right, I think.”

“The hell you would know anything, monkey?”

“’s kinda sensible, that’s all.”

“On which planet?” Sanzo asked, because Stockholm syndrome was not happening to him, ever, not as long as his skull was still intact and free of bullet holes.

“Dunno, Vulcan?” Goku grinned broadly and raised his hand for Gojyo to high-five.

“I’m surrounded by morons,” Sanzo muttered, massaging his temples as though that would alleviate the pain of existence.

“Cheer up, Grumpy,” Gojyo said.

They ended up going down the temple steps. Sanzo lost the vote three to one, four, if one counted the excited bark Dug let out when Hakkai turned the question on him. Sanzo preferred to think Dug had woofed in his favour, even if that did make him feel ambivalent about his sanity.

“You gonna get down okay?” Gojyo tossed in Goku direction, completely ruining the effect by adding “Or do I got to carry you?”

Goku responded with a one-fingered salute and, Dug’s leash firmly in hand, took several cautious steps to the edge of the top platform. “How high are the steps?”

Hakkai took an estimating look at the regular build of the pyramid, hopped down a step, did a more accurate measurement, and turned to appraise Goku. “I’d say midway between the knee and thigh, adjusting for your height, and about two feet wide. They seem even from here.”

“I should be okay then.” Goku thrust the leash in Sanzo direction and inched closer to the edge. Sanzo almost envied the apparent ease with which he crouched and hopped to the lower level, and lower still.

“The hell does he need you for?” Sanzo asked Dug, getting a puzzled stare and then a bark in response. Goku was ten steps down when Sanzo finally moved and followed, trying not to strangle the dog as he went. Walking with a leashed living creature was a very peculiar experience, he found. Said creature had a brain on its own, and when Goku -- inevitably -- slipped on a loose rock and landed on his arse a step lower, Dug did his best to hang himself on his collar in an effort to get to his master. Thankfully he was wearing his harness, and experience had apparently shown that asphyxiation by that thing was out of question.

“Goku! Are you okay?” Hakkai called.

“Yeah, my butt hurts, but I’m fine. ” He proved the point by getting to his knees and stretching, then continuing on his way down with as much care, which was to say none. Sanzo stared after him, then tried closing his eyes and descending a step. It wasn’t pretty, but thankfully Dug caught on to his ruse and didn’t let him fall.

How the fuck could anyone live like this?

******

The bottom of the pyramid offered a view in many ways more spectacular than the top. They were standing in a bowl that had been possibly formed by nature to begin with and then incorporated into the designs of the culture that had erected the structure .

“So… anyone versed in local history to act as a guide?” Gojyo asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Don’t look at me. It’s Disneyland for all I know. Kinda slimy Disneyland, but I guess with ducks and mice and dogs you get that way.” Goku poked at the rocks. His fingers dub into the moss all the way to the first knuckle.

“It’s not Disneyland.”

“Yeah, thank you.” Goku wasn’t, and likely never would be, a master of sarcasm. Not exactly a shock to Sanzo, but a mild surprise all the same. He must have been the first of Sanzo’s acquaintances not to be intimately involved in the worship at the irony tree.

“Are we done sight-seeing yet?” he asked, because this was getting out of hand.

The only response he got was the sound of a dozen guns being cocked.

“I told you so,” Sanzo said, even as he raised his arms. Slowly, from the edges of the bowl the men descended, brandishing threatening guns.

“Oh dear.”

“Um. I hear people?” Goku ventured, taking a step back and bumping into Sanzo. His warm hand touched Sanzo’s shoulder and then travelled down to take possession of the leash.

“Can you also hear guns?”

“Not right now I can’t.”

“Silence!” barked the man at the forefront of the group.

“ _I told you so_ ,” Sanzo hissed directly into Hakkai’s ear.

“I heard you the first time, thank you.”

“What do you plan to do about it?”

“Here’s a thought: let’s go with these nice men to wherever they plan on taking us, and wait for the demands to be issued.”

“Because escape is so last season.”

“We were carted off to Venezuela. How easy do you think it would be to escape an organisation which can do that?”

“I was hoping very. So were you, I recall.”

“My opinion has since been revised.”

“Great. Just fucking great.”

“You said it, pal,” Gojyo said. “Hey, you guys mind if I smoke?” he asked when the soldiers started herding them back up.

“Yeah, I mind,” one of the soldiers said.

Gojyo rolled his eyes but shoved the packet back into his pocket. “Whatever, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

The man growled and shoved Gojyo forward, up to the edge of the green bowl. A barely visible humvee was waiting there, with more soldiers perched on its sides.

“Somehow, this is all your fault, Hakkai,” Sanzo said when they were ushered inside.

“How do you figure?”

“Out of the four of us you’re the one most likely to be running a secret human trafficking operation out of your basement.” Sanzo finished the sentence, bit his tongue and felt a wave of shame and dread sweep through him, and that was before he looked at Hakkai’s face. “I’m sorry,” he told his clenched fists, low enough that no one save for the words’ intended target could hear.

“I wish you’d remember that, for the future,” Hakkai said icily.

Goku turned his face to Sanzo, looking puzzled. He said nothing, but Sanzo was struck again by how intense his gaze was, how it contained all the power of insatiable curiosity, which comes with gentle affection, without recognition or focus. Sanzo looked away, all but blinded himself by the vision of a world bathed in darkness, whose designs and colours had to be wrought with words and touch rather than be freely available. The vision gave him a surprising amount of pain.

******

It was difficult to hold a conversation with a dozen armed men and, what do you know, at least three women, pointing guns in your general direction. Sanzo was surprisingly unbothered about the guns -- shooting them was going to win the kidnappers no points -- but it did put a damper on the conversation, as though the muzzles doubled as miniature black holes that sucked in all the sound.

Fortunately, the drive wasn’t long. Before Sanzo could even work up a good string of insults, they were stopping by a dilapidated shack in the middle of nowhere, one that seemed like an open invitation to insects of all shapes and sizes. They were politely shoved inside and locked in a room that, by some miracle, had fewer spiders than people.

Sanzo was reluctant to touch any flat surface.

“Well, that went well,” Hakkai said, looking around.

Dug woofed mournfully and Goku bent to give him a pat. “Dug is hungry,” he said.

“Hey, we have a shower! Outstanding.”

“Since when you’ve been such a stickler for hygiene?” Sanzo asked, folding his arms. There was nothing that he found less attractive than the prospect of getting undressed and taking a chance with whatever sludge came out of the pipes, not even if he was so hot and sticky he could probably suspend himself from the ceiling by pressing his open palms to it really hard. Though Gojyo was such a disgusting human being nothing in the shower could kill him.

“Right now I’d kill for a shower,” Gojyo said.

“I’m hungry,” Goku added. He’d abandoned Dug’s leash in favour of searching for a door by means of groping the walls.

“I wouldn’t touch those, if I were you.”

“I don’t exactly have other options.”

“You could have asked.”

“Ah, found it!” Goku started hammering on the door, yelling now and then. He was so annoying that Sanzo was surprised he had to wait as long as he did without an answer.

“What do you want?” asked one of the soldiers as he threw the door open.

“Dug is hungry. And I’m hungry too.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“You’re going to let my dog starve? What kinda arsehole are you!”

“Woah, chill. No one said anything about starving the dog.” The soldier put his gun away and produced a doggy treat.

“I should hope not!”

“Here boy,” the boy in uniform said, waving the disgusting biscuit in the air. “Here.”

Goku looked confused for a moment, then he caught on. “He’s not taking food from no one but me.”

“He’s dog.”

“Try him.”

The soldier shrugged and threw the biscuit on the floor. Dug looked down, looked at Goku, looked down again, then back at Goku then very pointedly looked away, casting furtive glances at the biscuit.

“See?” Goku said, when after a minute there was no sound. He went down on his knees mapping the floor with his hands. Dug got up, nudging the treat towards Goku’s open palm. “It’s not poisoned or nothing?”

“No one is going to kill a dog. What are you, insane?”

Dug went from begging to ecstatic, as Goku offered him the treat on an open palm. “That’s not going to be enough. He’s a big dog.”

“He’s a glorified poodle, is what he is,” the soldier said, but disappeared and returned a few minutes later with what looked like a pack of pebbles and a dish.

“I’m not eating that,” Hakkai and Gojyo, who’d managed to return from his shower, said in unison. The soldier scowled, but he had been followed with a woman in fatigues with an armful of bread and a box of edibles. There was a large bottle of water in her hand, too.

“Stop whining,” she told them. “We can hear you all the way downstairs.”

“Thank you for voicing that thought. Your comfort is of utmost importance to us,” Sanzo muttered in the direction of the door. He had yet to move away from his spot. He would, if he felt like it, but the whole place was just so filthy.

“You won’t be here long,” she said, and Sanzo really didn’t like the sparkles that danced in her eyes as she spoke. He hated being the butt of a joke. He hated jokes, period.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Eat, have a shower. In an hour we are moving you out.”

No sooner had she finished speaking when the door closed, leaving the four of them staring at one another. Goku was busy filling a bowl with the brown pebbles dogs apparently ate.

“If no one has any objections, I’ll take my shower now,” Hakkai said.

“Knock yourself out,” Sanzo said, watching Goku pet Dug as he stuffed his face.

“Are you gonna lend a hand?” Gojyo asked delving into the box of food. Sanzo glanced at the table and then up at the ceiling over it. Neither was even remotely sanitary.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Very funny. You don’t have to sit down, but you are eating.”

“Fuck you.”

“Flattered, but spoken for.”

“Oh?” Goku found his way to the table, and sat down on one of the least damaged chairs. “You’re married?”

“Not so much married as shagging Hakkai, and he’s a possessive bitch,” Gojyo said, handing him a bottle.

“Huh,” Goku said. “Hakkai sounds like he has a nails and coffins in his cellar.”

“Not far from the truth. Sandwich?”

Goku took Gojyo up on the offer with enthusiasm, but it took Hakkai, fresh from the shower, to force Sanzo to swallow some of the food, despite the protest. It was only because Hakkai was Hakkai and therefore an unstoppable force of evil, that Sanzo deigned to see whether the so-called shower met his very high sanitation criteria, and as expected it didn’t. He undressed and gave himself a cursory wash, because if there was one thing he hated more than unclean surfaces it was when those surfaces were on him.

They seemed to be on some very peculiar clock, because the moment Goku stumbled out of the shower, thanks to some carelessly dropped piece of rubble, the door slammed open and the four of them were rushed outside again, into the car and through the sweltering jungle. The drive was very short, and as soon as the forest thinned, they were unceremoniously shoved onto a very tiny plane.

“This cannot end well,” Hakkai said as they strapped themselves in.

“Hakkai’s got a fear of flying,” Gojyo told Goku.

“What flying?”

“Oh. We’re kinda on a plane right now.”

The engines whirred into life before Goku could respond, and Sanzo welcomed the change of scenery, as they left the jungle edition of tarmac behind and sailed over the green expanses of the forest. It was almost peaceful.

Then, of course, the pilot started flopping like a mad fish, opened the door to his cabin and jumped. He -- or she, the flight suit made it difficult to tell -- was out of sight before they could utter as much as “what in the holiest of mauve fucks is going on?!”

TBC  


* * *

 

“Hakkai and Goku,” Gojyo said, “I don’t want to alarm you, but our pilot just jumped ship.”

“Whaddya mean?” Goku asked. “How could he jump ship with us being onna plane? I thought we’d started. My ears popped and everything.”

“That’s why I said I don’t wanna alarm you.” Gojyo got out of his seat and squeezed into the cockpit. “The good news,” he yelled through the noise, “Is that the auto-pilot is gonna keep us going as long as no turbulence fucks us over. Then we are toast.”

“Ah,” Hakkai said. His fingers were bone white and digging into the armrest.

Sanzo shoved the seatbelts aside and went to inspect the back of the plane. “I found parachutes,” he said, when the inspection of a large container carefully labelled “do not open” yielded not only five separate factory-packed parachutes, three complete with drogues, but also suits and enough harnesses to land a tank safely on a moon-bounce.

“Awesome!” Gojyo’s spirits lifted considerably. “Do they got red?”

“Not in your size.”

“Aw, come on!”

“You’re gonna have to settle for pink,” Sanzo said.

“Okay, dude. This is not pink. This is violet.”

“Could you be any more of a queer?”

“I shagged more women than you, so I’m pretty sure that makes you more queer than me.”

“Not if you can tell pink and _violet_ apart.”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, hi, I wouldn’t wanna be butting in, but we are in a pilot-less plane here. Only thing missing is Gary Oldman,” Goku said. He was nervous, and Sanzo was struck by an unexpected urge to console him. Luckily, he didn’t have to, because Gojyo opened his big mouth.

“Hey, this is good news. The weather is perfect, we are high in the air and we got shiny new ‘chutes. Life couldn’t be sweeter.”

Hakkai muttered something he must have read in the Necronomicon on his weekly meetings. Sanzo dug through the container and came up with a jumpsuit that ought to be small enough for the monkey. “Put this on,” he said depositing the yellow bag in Goku’s lap. “It zips up on the front.”

“Why am I the only one who’s nervous?” Goku asked, but obediently started tearing on the plastic.

“Because you are a moron,” Sanzo said.

“Shut up, Sanzo. Goku, chill-out. Everything’s gonna be fine. Hey Hakkai, you prefer blue or green?”

“I couldn’t care less, honestly.”

“Green it is. Suit up,” Gojyo said rather unnecessarily, as Sanzo was already zipping up and Goku was just figuring out where to put his legs. “So here’s the plan – Sanzo, you grab Goku and you can go. Hakkai, you second. I’ll go last, rescuing anyone who fails at surviving.”

“What about Dug?” Goku said, panicking in earnest.

“Don’t worry ‘bout the mutt, I got him covered.”

“You’re gonna parachute jump with a dog?” Goku asked.

“Relax. I do this for a living.”

“What, jump holding dogs?”

“Smartass. No, I’m a skydiving instructor. We also do acrobatics and aerial shows.”

“Seriously?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“If we were about to hit a mountain, yeah, absolutely. I think.” Goku cocked his head and considered. “Probably.”

“We’re not. Stop being such a suspicious little bugger.” Gojyo ruffled Goku’s hair, then he looked at the dog. “Is he gonna give me trouble?”

“Hard to say, I ain’t ever tried kicking him out of a plane.”

“Har-har.” Gojyo zipped his suit up and knelt beside Dug with a harness in his hands. “You’re make the pooch nervous.”

“He’s gonna be, anyway!” Goku shook his head and waved his fists, but held Dug in place as Gojyo wrapped the black tape around him and fastened the straps. “Good boy, Dug. You are gonna behave for Gojyo, okay?” Dug panted and licked a tongue-wide stripe across Goku’s face. “Good boy.”

“Okay. Let me know before you jump, so that I can clip him. I wouldn’t wanna have to jump after him after he jumps after you.”

“Stupid dog,” Sanzo said, solely out of the need to interject. Goku turned his attention to him, but he was silent while Sanzo helped him into the harness and tested the fastenings. “Put these on.” Goku managed to get the goggles on his face the right side up on the second try. His hands shook and Sanzo supposed that blind-jumping out of a plane with a guy he didn’t know had to overload a guy’s adrenaline glands with demands for more. “Stop shivering. You’re going to fuck with my piloting.”

“I ain’t exactly spent my weekends skydiving!”

“Which is why no one is letting you close to a parachute.”

“You jumped a lot?”

“Enough.”

“With a passenger?”

“With Gojyo, to my eternal shame,” Sanzo said, biting his tongue only after the admission left his mouth. He had sworn never to return to that memory.

“But Gojyo said he is an instructor.”

“Yes.”

“So you haven’t actually jumped with a passenger,” Goku said, and to his credit his voice only shook a little.

“It can’t be that hard, if Gojyo can do it.” Sanzo did a quick check of the equipment and fastened the parachute to his back. All that remained was praying that the equipment was in working order, and he wasn’t a praying man.

“Wait, you might want to take this,” Hakkai handed Goku a small pack.

“What’s that?”

“Rudimentary provisions. They were in the box in the back. You might need to eat before we manage to meet again.”

“Good point. Do we have compasses or some such?”

“Not really, no.” Hakkai took a deep breath and went into the cockpit to study the view. “There,” he yelled, pointing in a direction perpendicular to the apparent flight path. “Tents. Seems like some sort of festival – we’ll all head in that direction.”

Gojyo and Sanzo looked out of the side-windows. “Sounds good,” Gojyo said. “Shouldn’t be more than a couple of miles.” Sanzo refrained from commenting that there was a jungle in their way, even if the projected landing site was a sandy plain.

“That’s not exactly a block away!”

“If you catch a ride, do let me know!”

Sanzo shrugged. “You ready?” he asked Goku.

“Not very.”

“We’re off then.” Sanzo fitted a pair of goggles over his eyes and snapped their harnesses together. His breath messed up the short hair on the nape of Goku’s neck, causing him to giggle. “Do not try to scream; I won’t hear you anyway. Talking is impossible during a jump. Do not wiggle or move.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Parachuting is easy. Gravity only works one way.”

“Thank you so much, I feel better.”

“When I pull the parachute you’re going to feel a sharp yank. Don’t worry about it. Then it ought to be smooth, until the landing.”

“Okay, what about the landing?”

“Obviously, it could get interesting. Just try to stay relaxed.” No way they were going to pull off a landing without tripping, not with a blind passenger, but Sanzo was going to try, anyway. Rolling in the dirt was not one of his favourite past-times.

“Looking good, kids!” Gojyo gave them a thumbs up. Sanzo gave him the finger.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with Dug?”

“Well, I ain’t ever jumped with a dog, but yeah, I think so. If he doesn’t try to bite my face off, or anything.”

“That might actually be an improvement.” Sanzo waited for Gojyo to finish fiddling with his own parachute. He then attached the fastenings on the front of his suit to the harness on Dug, so that the dog would hang across his chest.

“Okay, we’re good. Open her up, Hakkai.”

Hakkai, noticeably paler than usual, grabbed the door handle and pulled it open. Air rushed into the cabin, scrambling all the words into an utter mess. Sanzo guided Goku to the open door and, without further ado – what could he say, really? – pushed them both over the edge. To his credit, Goku only let out a wordless yelp when gravity grabbed them with both hands and pulled, hard.

They weren’t too high off the ground, a mile, maybe a little more. Sanzo made sure the drogue deployed properly before reaching out and grasping Goku’s hand. He yelled something nonsensical into his ear as their fingers entwined, even as he pulled the cord that, with any luck, would release the parachute and save them from a splattering death. Goku’s hand tightened around his and the whooshing air went through Sanzo’s jumpsuit and invaded every last nerve, filling his mind with gibberish and the sun. Fortunately, the movement was a reflex by now – with his right hand Sanzo pulled the cord and the parachute unfurled, yanking them out of freefall with a powerful snap.

The air stilled as their descent became less of a frantic rush and more of a scenic voyage. “We are not dead yet,” Sanzo yelled, and Goku laughed in joyous relief.

“Thanks! I was worried there for a moment!”

His hand was warm, clammy and fairly disgusting, Sanzo thought, but he didn’t let go as they gently floated towards the open plain.

The closer they got, the less comfortable the landing looked. The plain was treeless, but riddled with rocks and small, camouflaged bushes that, if they were lucky, hid only thorns and not scorpions.

“The landing might get bumpy!” Sanzo warned. “Try to fly.”

Goku opened his mouth in indignation but uttered no sound. Sanzo was grateful. A sudden gust of wind sent them whirling from his carefully chosen landing strip, leaving him with little time to prepare a landing procedure. “On three, get ready to run!”

Goku nodded and seconds before they hit the ground Sanzo yelled “lift your legs!” They missed a jagged rock by inches, hit the dirt at all the wrong angles and rolled to a complete stop twenty yards later, hopelessly tangled in the parachute and one another.

Sanzo – 39, gravity – 0.

Sanzo opened his eyes and rolled them both a yard to the left, away from a slithering reptile, which had been resting in the shadow of a rock. “Ouch, motherfucking snakes on the motherfucking plains.”

Goku burst out into laughter. “Thank you, Samuel.”

“Shut up. This was a hopeless landing.”

“No, it was an awesome landing. We are both in one piece and on solid ground.” Goku started feeling around for the clasps that held the harness together, and Sanzo hurried to assist, because fuck if he was going to be attached to the moron any longer than necessary. The harness, of course, was the least of their problems: far more pressing was the web of cords binding them like a Christmas ham. Thankfully, and Sanzo couldn’t have more grudging respect for the person who planned this, the jumpsuit was equipped with a sharp knife. Within moments he was scrambling to his feet and scanning the sky for the rest of their little posse.

Far in the distance the plane was wobbling, possibly because of a sudden draft, but there were no parachutes in the sky.

“Can you see them?” Goku asked, unzipping his suit.

“No.”

Goku bit his lip. “You suppose they are okay?”

“What? How stupid do you think Gojyo is, really?”

“Excuse me for finding extreme sports dangerous!”

“Why do I have to get stuck with idiots?” Sanzo asked the empty sky. “They are fine. It’s not rocket science. Even you could do it.” A moment’s thought had him revising the statement. “You could have done it. Being able to see is a requirement, far as I know.”

“Gee, thanks. You really think they are okay?”

“Gojyo does this for a living. I assume if he couldn’t make a jump in perfect conditions with brand-new equipment, he would have been long since out of a job.”

“What about Hakkai?”

“What about him?” It had long been a belief on which Sanzo erected his worldview that Hakkai could glare the air into breaking his fall and depositing him gently wherever he pleased.

“You said he’s scared of heights.”

“So?”

“So we left him alone to jump outta a plane?”

“He had Gojyo to give him a push.”

“You know what I mean!”

“He’s done at least three solo jumps that I know of. He is fine.”

Goku nodded and started struggling out of the jumpsuit. Sanzo followed his example, because the sun was unbearable, especially with three pounds of glorified plastic bag on his skin.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We trek through the jungle to the circus.”

“What circus?”

“There’s a bunch of round tents in that direction,” Sanzo extended his arm and only after Goku didn’t turn his head to look did he realise the futility of visual demonstration. “It’s west from where we are,” he said. The sun was orange and enormous, shining straight into his eyes. It was May and he couldn’t be sure about time, precisely, but – oh fuck. “We need to camp out.”

“What, now?”

“It’s late,” Sanzo said and cursed himself for not realising it sooner. “We are not hiking through the jungle at night.”

“Yeah, that would be bad. Okay then.”

“Okay then?”

“Whatcha gonna do?”

“I don’t believe this.”

“Why not? It’s not that bad. We got some food and a little water, we got the ‘chute to make a tent, you smoke, so we got fire – it could be worse.”

“It must be really nice, living without a brain.”

“It must be horrible, living with one,” Goku retorted and grinned. Sanzo had the urge to punch that smart mouth. It was either that, or kissing it, and that wasn’t happening without some serious toothbrush action first. “Do we know which way to go?”

“The plane was heading straight north, so we go west.”

“Awesome.” Goku stood up, rolling up the jumpsuit as he went. He tied it around the pack Hakkai had given him and sat back down, waiting for Sanzo to realise the parachute wasn’t going to be used to its intended purpose without the cords being changed first, so there was no point in folding it properly.

“Let’s move,” Sanzo said and they earnestly tried, but it turned out that blindness was a serious handicap when navigating a jagged surface of rocks and bushes and at least fifteen hundred lizards. After the third fall, Sanzo took Goku by the elbow and proceeded with a running commentary, liberally interspaced with profanities.

They made it to the edge of the jungle when the sky in the west started turning fiery. Sanzo cut some pieces of the rope and – with surprising amount of help from Goku – erected a truly astonishing construction of fabric and tree branches.

“Are you sure you’re blind?” he asked when Goku deftly tied off the final corner of their tent.

“I sometimes doubt it, but then I look around and check the time. If it ain’t midnight and I see nothing, I probably am blind.”

Sanzo probably shouldn’t be this impressed by the smart-ass reply. He really shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it if Goku’s broad grin brought a genuine smile to his mouth, so he didn’t even try.

“What do we have to eat?” Goku asked, rummaging in their meagre pack of provisions. “Feels like candybars.”

“There’s chocolate and protein bars.”

“I’m hungry.”

“We’re not going far. You can eat then.”

“I don’t like being hungry.”

“I imagine that’s true of anyone who doesn’t spend their lives on catwalks, doing the job of coat hangers. Shut up and eat the damn bar.”

Though the supper was less than satisfactory, because Sanzo was craving beer and Goku a three-course meal, the view was nothing if not spectacular. Sanzo watched the sunset as he chewed, counting down the minutes until the darkness would be total and they would be alone with the spiders and mosquitoes and dinosaurs and possibly King Kong. Sanzo was a city boy, born and bred. He distrusted forests in the climate zone he hailed from, but here, at the gates of hell that the intertropical zone was, his hair was standing up straight and thrumming.

Parachuting he was okay with, any time, any place, any height. Trees he wanted to give a wide berth, especially at night. There was no telling what would come out of those trees at night.

Goku yawned and Sanzo started out of his grim musings. “Go to sleep,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Wake me in a couple of hours then,” Goku said bravely, though his eyes were practically glued together.

“Fat load of good you’ll be, if someone walks up to us really slowly.”

“Will not!”

“Go to sleep.”

“I’m kinda thinking, why do we need to keep watch? It’s not like there’s anyone around.”

“I’m not taking chances.”

“And what are you gonna do? Growl at them?”

“Shut up and fall asleep.”

Goku rolled his eyes -- a fact only visible in the quickly fading light because the whites of his eyes caught the very last stray sunbeam -- and crawled into the architectonical wonder of wood and fabric. Within minutes Sanzo heard snoring and fuck if that didn’t spark envy. He tossed and turned most nights, trying to find a comfortable spot on a futon -- hell, he’d tossed and turned until Koumyou had rolled over and flattened him under his weight -- and sleep would ellude him for hours. The monkey had only to lay his head on the pillow for his frigging brain to switch off.

It probably helped that he had just a tiny brain to begin with, Sanzo mused.

He congratulated himself on collecting the cigarettes Gojyo had been incautious enough to leave in the shower. It wasn’t his preferred brand, but lung poison was lung poison, and he was glad to have it. He lit one and contemplated the blackness of the jungle before him.

It took him thirty seconds to realise he had maybe five minutes before his rational brain gave way to the lizard one, and when that happened he would start running in circles on the rocky plain, screaming for someone, anyone to come save him. He looked into the jungle and the jungle looked back, with a million tiny eyes, staring into him and through him.

Though he wasn’t a fan of camping, he built a fire in under two minutes, surrounded it with a ring of rocks and crawled into the tent. The flickering flames cast just enough light to penetrate the folds of the parachute and allow him to see Goku stretched out on a matress of rock and jumpsuits, just as comfortable as he would have been in his own bed. How Sanzo envied him his peace and calm.

Strange, how much comfort the flimsy fabric offered. Sanzo sat there for an hour, watching the flames’ flickering shadow on the folds. Finally, when his eyes would no longer work, he poked his head out, added fuel to the fire, and -- cursing all the while -- wrapped his arms around Goku’s sleeping body.

Comforted by the serenity emanating from Goku’s peaceful sleep, Sanzo gave in to exhaustion and allowed himself to fall asleep as well.

TBC  


* * *

 

The fun thing about the equator area is that when the sun rises, it brings on the heat. The heat whips up all the available water into a frenzy and thus the air above the equator is not air, but an unbreathable mixture of boiling water and spare particles of oxygen that keep you on the brink of asphyxiation before deigning to sustain your system.

In a makeshift tent built out of a parachute things were even worse.

Sanzo woke up gasping. He was sweaty, hot, and worst of all, he was in the embrace of a tentacled monster just as disgusting as he was.

“Morning,” Goku said when Sanzo started kicking in an effort to get away. “Did anyone attack us during the night?”

“Shut up.”

Goku stretched and snuggled against Sanzo. “How did you sleep?”

Pretty good actually, Sanzo thought, but didn’t say anything, out of sheer shock that such a positive statement dared to spring forth from his mind. It was true, though, and no amount of denial could fight it into submission.

Goku made for a good whole-body pillow.

Sanzo ran an absent-minded hand over Goku’s back, drawing a shudder. “’s nice,” Goku muttered, digging his chin into Sanzo’s shoulder. His hair was wet and stuck to Sanzo’s face. Sanzo questioned his own sanity when his mind generously supplied the idea that he could stick his hands underneath Goku’s shirt and see how his skin felt.

“You’re disgusting,” Sanzo said, mostly in the direction of his brain.

Goku sat up furrowing his brow. “Why are you so mean?”

“I need a shower,” Sanzo said by way of an apology and an explanation. He crawled out of the tent to stretch in the stifling jungle morning. “Fuck. I can’t breathe.”

“It’s hot.”

“Thanks, weather boy.”

“What is your problem, seriously? Would it kill you to not be sarcastic for five minutes?”

“Don’t know; have no intention of finding out. We should go.”

“Can’t we eat something first?” Goku whined, and for a guy he worked up to an impressive pitch.

“We have granola bars and a bottle of water.”

“I’m hungry.”

“And I want civilisation.”

“Are we taking the parachute?”

Sanzo considered. For all he knew about jungles and camping, less luggage meant easier travelling. Then again, all he knew about jungles could fit on the back of a travel card. There was a reason he stayed within a five-mile radius from a railway station at all times, and his love for public communication wasn’t it.

“It might come in handy.”

“Okay,” Goku said, and – to Sanzo’s surprise – he found the branch that supported the construction, hoisted himself up onto it and started untying the folds and strings that held the tent together.

“You dare to argue when I call you a monkey?” Sanzo asked, when Goku stood up on the branch, which was no thicker than his leg, and calmly started folding the fabric where he stood.

“Just because I can walk a straight line without looking don’t mean I’m a monkey,” Goku shot back, grinning. “Catch!”

The folded parachute hit Sanzo chest and Goku got off the tree the Luke Skywalker way, dropping like a stone and halting his fall by grabbing the branch as he fell. Sanzo’s shoulders cried out in sympathy, but the monkey wasn’t bothered in the slightest.

“Can we eat now?”

They finished off what little supplies they had, leaving only half a bottle of water for the way, and Sanzo prayed the jungle walk was as short as it had seemed from the plane. Once again he had to trust in Gojyo’s ability to judge distances, and trusting Gojyo to do anything right was like trusting ultraviolet rays not to inflame the epidermis.

“Let’s move,” Sanzo said, trying the parachute backpack. Shit, it was heavy, now that it wasn’t a life-saving device, but luggage.

“Okay. Where’s the backpack?”

“I’ve got it.”

“I’ll take it.”

“I’m thinking no. Last thing we need is you tripping and dying under the load because you were carrying too much.”

“No, last thing we need is you dying out of exhaustion. Gimme!”

Sanzo was prepared to argue, on principle, but Goku extended his hands, took a couple steps forward, slapped him across the face by accident, smoothed the insult with a peck to the lips and bent to take the backpack off Sanzo’s hands. “I run every day and I work out. I can handle it.”

Sanzo, still mildly stunned by both the slap and the kiss, allowed for the blind guy to take him by the hand and pull him towards the green death.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Sanzo asked a hundred yards into the jungle.

“Uh, no? I assumed you were leading.”

“Says the guy on point.”

“Says the blind guy on point.” Goku stopped and turned to Sanzo. “Look, seriously, I ain’t totally incompetent, but you gotta say stuff before we get totally lost!”

“I’m saying now.”

“So are we going in the right direction?”

Sanzo sighed. “I think so.”

To his surprise Goku giggled. “You’re funny.”

“I’m _funny_?”

“Yeah. You need to relax a little, you know? It’s gonna be okay.” Goku was standing uncomfortably close, not that the heat his body generated made any difference compared to the local temperature.

“You have been utterly blind and dumb for a long time, haven’t you,” Sanzo muttered, but his head came to rest on Goku’s shoulder all the same. “Nothing is ever okay.”

“It is if you make it okay,” Goku whispered into his ear. “Can we go? I’m hungry.”

Sanzo sighed but took point this time, never letting go of Goku’s hand. They had a couple of miles to go, if Gojyo’s estimation was correct. It usually was.

By day the jungle wasn’t quite so scary. Sanzo’s heart was still performing undue acrobatics in his chest, threatening to stop at the drop of a hat, but it strained to service while it could. They were walking at a decent speed, Sanzo noted with a surprise that had long since ceased being all that surprising. Goku, when led around by the hand, moved with an agility any man could envy, and if he tripped over roots and rocks Sanzo didn’t think of mentioning – they were just _there_ – he didn’t let that slow him down.

“Sorry,” Sanzo said the third time Goku had to adjust his pace not to fall flat on his face.

“Would it kill you to mention stuff like that? I really can’t see!”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine.” Goku turned his head and Sanzo’s lizard brain went into overdrive. What was it that he had heard? Tigers? Raptors? Lawyers? “Ooh, I think I hear water.”

“You hear water?” Sanzo said, at the same time relieved and annoyed. “You hear water.”

“Yeah, what’s so odd?”

Fortunately no detour was required and before long they were standing at a nine feet drop, at the bottom of which water pooled. There was a tiny waterfall, too, but a huge tree, whose roots trailed all the way to the bottom, blocked their access.

“Trouble?”

“You could say that.” Sanzo contemplated the drop, and the odds of landing with his bones as they were, versus the risk of catching something that would puzzle Dr House by touching the mouldy tree.

Goku was silent for another beat. “What kinda trouble? Tigers? Elephants?”

There were no words for the utter geographical fail of that comment. “This is South America.”

“Whatever. A jungle is a jungle. What’s the trouble?”

“A drop.”

“High?”

“Ten feet, maybe.”

“That’s a problem how?”

“Some of us are not monkeys.”

Goku rolled his eyes. “What’s the ground like?”

“Hard to tell. Some roots, something green, possibly upturned knives.”

“I can see why you carry alarm clocks to the park. Nature is not out to get you,” Goku said, sitting on the edge and feeling around for something to hold onto. He found the mouldy tree and before Sanzo could utter a word, slid to the bottom of the drop.

“Shows what you know. South American jungles are home to enough poisonous species to end all life in a small town, and that’s just the stuff you find on the forest floor. Virtually everything we see could kill you.”

Goku turned his head up towards Sanzo and smiled. “And it’s gonna, if you sit and wait for it to jump you. Come on down. It’s nice and even. If you sit on the edge you don’t even need the tree.”

Sanzo sent the cripple a mean look but swung his legs over the edge, turned and made the mistake of letting his arms take a portion of his weight. Big mistake. With a string of curses he fell and landed thankfully on his feet, but they proved so unstable, he staggered into Goku’s extended arms, toppling them both into the water pool.

“You okay?” Goku asked anxiously, because sitting in a jungle pond while fully dressed was not a big enough problem.

“My shoulder hurts,” Sanzo said curtly.

“Oh.” Goku’s hand automatically reached out to pat the offending body part and Sanzo allowed the contact, because he was too comfortable to move from where he sat, half-submerged in cool water. It was heavenly.

They moved on, eventually, but only because Sanzo remembered horror stories about parasites living in southern waters.

******

It turned out that Gojyo was right – their whole jungle trek only took an hour and a half, including the bath in the pond. Soon enough they emerged onto another sandy plain, bathed in sunlight, on which civilisation reigned.

Well, a plain which civilisation had tried to conquer. There were portable loos and something that looked like a bar, for which Sanzo mentally praised the universe. He was dying for a beer. Before he could get a better look at the blessings their new surroundings offered, however, there was barking and they were assaulted by twenty pounds of enthusiasm and dog breath.

“Dug!” Goku kissed the creature on the nose, and scratched his ears, as happy as the mutt seemed to be. He abandoned the backpack to frolic with the dog, but his glee was so understandable that even Sanzo allowed the dog a pat on the head, after he made sure no one was looking. “Good boy, Dug! How did you like skydiving?”

“He was more fun than Sanzo during his first jump, let me tell you,” Gojyo said, lessening the offence of his presence with two cans of cold beer, which he offered to Sanzo and Goku. “Hey, you sure you’re legal, kid?”

“Shut up,” Goku said, gulping down half in one go. “Yuck. Is there any food?”

“Yeah, they got a couple bars here. The food worries me, but they do take pounds sterling, by some miracle.”

“Because that makes so much sense.”

“Everything is vastly overpriced as a result, but it is greasy and disgusting and therefore good for you. Come on, kid, I’ll take you.”

“Stop calling me kid! I’m twenty-six, for god’s sake.”

“Whatever.” Gojyo rolled his eyes and ruffled Goku’s wet hair and dodged the astonishingly well-aimed uppercut. “How come Sanzo didn’t ditch you in the jungle? I had money on him losing you and Dug eating his face in revenge.”

“Dunno, maybe he was worried he won’t make it without me,” Goku said, turning to grin at Sanzo, who scowled. “Didja sleep, too?”

“Yeah, ‘s only sensible,” Sanzo heard Gojyo say before he lost interest in watching Goku walk and turned to greet Hakkai, who was approaching with something that dripped with grease and oozed distaste. Sanzo discovered, via the party his tongue was throwing, that he was hungry as hell.

“You can get some in the booth over there,” Hakkai said, correctly interpreting Sanzo’s glare, as he was wont to do.

“What the hell is it?” Sanzo asked, picking up the backpack Goku had discarded. Fuck, it was heavy when wet.

“To be perfectly honest I have no idea. It seems to be some sort of a hot-dog, as it does resemble a sausage in a bun, but I wouldn’t put my money on it. It’s surprisingly tasty.”

“Anything is tasty after granola bars.”

“No arguments here.”

Following Hakkai’s directions, Sanzo made it to the booth, where he bought the most expensive fast food on the planet. He was done with it in under three minutes, so he wasted no time in getting another and then a third.

“I thought the tell-tale signs of the world ending were near, and here we are, Sanzo is eating.”

Sanzo let his finger do the talking. He washed down the whatever-it-was in a bun with another beer and turned to look at Goku, whose feeding habits apparently ran towards quantity rather than quality at the best of times -- he was holding a tray of food, rather than a handful.

“Sanzo doesn’t eat?” the monkey asked. “How come?”

“He must eat sometime,” Gojyo said, “As I’m told it’s impossible to live on beer alone, but I have yet to see it.”

“You shove dinners down my throat every week.”

“That’s Hakkai, not me.”

“I resent the implication. I simply endeavour to include in your diet all that you neglect to consume on a daily basis. Which is every food group excepting carbohydrates.”

“There’s your problem right there,” Goku said with his mouth full. “Sanzo likes fast food, not the salads and crap.”

“Again, I resent the remark. Healthy, balanced cuisine is not crap.”

Goku attempted a panicked wave, remembered he was holding food, abandoned the idea and shook his head instead. “I didn’t mean that! I love food, all food. Even salads.”

Hakkai smiled. “Well in that case I’d be delighted to invite you to dinner when we get back.”

“Really?” Goku perked up enough to hit Jupiter with the top of his head. “Awesome! I ain’t a good cook, so it’s mostly ramen noodles and stuff you can cook in one pot.”

“Wait, wait, what was it you were saying about Sanzo?” Gojyo asked.

“Hm? Oh, Sanzo likes kebabs.”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, really – we met in the park before this whole creepy kidnapping thing started and I was hungry, so we went to get something to eat in the kebab place by the park and I’m pretty sure Sanzo ate the whole thing. Except for the parts that he spilled.”

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” Sanzo said at about the same time Hakkai raised a brow and exclaimed his surprise. “What?”

“Keboas? You should have said something.” There were buckets of reproach in Hakkai’s voice, which made Sanzo want to hide.

“I don’t mind your food.”

“I’m afraid ‘don’t mind’ is not good enough, Sanzo. Next time you are cooking.”

A fairly ridiculous statement, all things considered. “Seriously? You want him to cook? Are you suicidal?” Gojyo waved his arms, narrowly avoiding smashing the tray of hot-dog look-alikes into Goku’s face.

“Under my supervision, naturally,” Hakkai amended without missing a beat.

There was a moment of silence, or at least non-verbal exchanges, because Goku had a tendency to chew with gusto and the less said about Dug’s feeding habits the better. “Are we done here?” Sanzo asked, when the staring and knowing looks became unbearable.

“Not by a long shot, believe me.” Gojyo grinned like a madman. “We do have more pressing issues, like, where do we go from here?”

“Isn’t this supposed to be a civilised place?” Goku asked, cocking his head to the side. There was a dab of mustard-like substance on the tip of his nose.

“We thought so, but as it turned out this is the site of the start of a balloon race.”

“A balloon race.”

“Yeah, exactly. And most transport has left already. Hakkai talked to some of the vendors and they agreed to take us with when they leave for the town after the balloons go.”

Sanzo looked around, kicking himself for not noticing sooner. They were standing on an edge of Balloon City, Venezuela. The great big colourful orbs were still rising to their full height and they were spread out over an area at least a mile long. Only one was standing to attention not far from their breakfast site.

“Wonderful. Just- What the hell.”

“ _Buenos dias! que bien que ya tengamos visitantes_ ,” said a cheerful girl, barely visible underneath a huge cloud of multi-coloured balloons. “ _Empezaremos en menos de una hora_.”

Hakkai uttered the international syllable of “I almost understand” and followed it with “ _Gracias. Nos alegra estar aqui_.”

“ _Vais a volar con nosotros?_ ”

“ _Estamos esperando el transporte_ ,” Hakkai said, nodding vaguely towards the vendors.

The girl’s brows furrowed. “ _No son ustedes representantes de los patrocinadores?_ ”

“ _Um, Sanzo es un reportero_ ,” Hakkai said gesturing to Sanzo.

The girl brightened again. “ _Maravilloso, tengan_ ,” she picked a red balloon out of her bundle and offered it to Sanzo. “ _Disfrutad_!”

“ _Gracias_.” Sanzo nodded, turning to Hakkai as soon as she skipped away. “What the hell was that about?”

“I think it was a thinly veiled ‘what are you doing here’,” Hakkai said. “I told her you are a reporter. I think she liked the idea.”

Sanzo looked at the balloon, looked at Hakkai, then at the balloon again. “Here,” he said, tying the end of the string into a loop and attaching it to the monkey’s wrist. “Go play with it, or whatever.”

Any normal adult would probably be offended. Goku merely smiled and tilted his head upward to smile at the floating piece of rubber, tugging at the string now and then. “Thank you.” Sanzo was staring at his soft little smile, barely more than a quirk of the lips, really, when Hakkai stiffened by his side.

“We have company,” he hissed under his breath, jerking his head in the direction of what passed for a road in these parts, where a large Jeep was rolling to a stop before another girl with a bundle of balloons in her hand.

Goku shushed Dug and grabbed the harness. With his other hand he wound up the string and tucked the balloon underneath his elbow. “What do we do?” he asked, turning to Sanzo.

“I’ve got an idea,” Gojyo said. “Stay low and follow me.”

The field was so large they managed to sneak past the vendors and balloon girl number one with no trouble and sneak into the gondola of the one balloon that was ready to go before the soldiers made it halfway across the field.

“Brilliant tactical move,” Sanzo hissed, as Hakkai hastened to reassure the poor sap who was managing the open flame overhead. “What now?”

“Haven’t really thought that far. What are our options?” Gojyo asked and the gondola tilted sharply to the side. “What the fuck?”

Throwing caution to the wind Sanzo stood up, finding the ground to be moving away from them at considerable speed, and taking armed soldiers who were _waving at them_ with it. What the everloving fuck was this shit?

“Oh dear, not again,” Hakkai moaned, as the poor man in charge of the balloons waved his hands and yelled something at the people gathering where the balloon had been. He slid to the bottom of the basket as the balloon rose higher and higher into the clouds.

TBC  


* * *

 

The balloon was vividly orange. Sanzo, if he arched his back, could see its brightness against the blue sky, and it was a sight to behold. The few clouds that littered the sky were far in the distance, awkward little sheep on the azure pasture.

“That’s just great,” Sanzo said, sinking to join Hakkai on the bottom of the basket.

“It’s not so bad. The view is fantastic.” Gojyo grinned at them both. “Seriously, I understand Hakkai, but the hell you are doing down there?”

Sanzo said nothing. The truth was that he, too, had altophobia; he just hid it better than Hakkai. He hated planes, hated anything that flew. How that squared with to his frequent skydiving expeditions, he wasn’t sure. He had been very vocal when the idea had first been brought to his attention and it had been only Gojyo’s mindless tenacity that ensured that he had made the leap. It had clicked, to his surprise, he’d been weightless and free for a few minutes, after being weighed down by the world every minute of every day, so it’d seemed only sensible to repeat the experience.

Hakkai exchanged a couple of words with their unfortunate pilot, reporting his findings in a very brief and telling “We’re not landing till we’re landing.”

“That makes sense. I wouldn’t wanna land before we land. It could hurt and we’re fresh outta chutes.” Gojyo leaned against the edge of the basket and grinned at the open flame overhead. “Hey, what is the kid doing?” he asked suddenly, with such a tone of panic in his voice that Sanzo followed his gaze before he could think about it.

It didn’t seem fair that his heart stopped when he saw Goku perched comfortably on the edge of the gondola with his feet hanging over the side. The red balloon was hovering overhead, swaying gently in the breeze, and Goku was beaming at it, as though it was telling him secrets. Dug was standing on his hind legs at Goku’s side, tongue lolling out and paws on the rim. It seemed like hours, to Sanzo, the five seconds it took Gojyo to cross the gondola, wrap his arms around Goku’s midsection and pull him inside.

“Hey, what gives!”

“Are you trying to get yourself kicked off the ride?”

“I was just sitting!”

“Did you not get the memo? We are airborne!”

Goku turned his enormous eyes onto Gojyo, setting Sanzo’s blood on fire because Gojyo’s arms were still around him. “I thought we might be, yeah.”

“What the hell possessed you to do that, then?” Gojyo asked, finally, at long fucking last, letting go.

“I don’t mind heights.”

“You don’t see heights.”

“I didn’t mind heights even when I could see.”

“That’s no reason to risk your life like that,” Hakkai said, using his gently admonishing tone that had the effect of turning a sane man into a contrary monster in under three minutes.

Goku looked down. “Sorry. I didn’t think it was all that dangerous.” Of course, Sanzo mused, Goku was the exception to a great many human rules. The notion of him having otherworldly origins was swiftly moving out of the land of theory and into the realms of certainty.

“Where are we going?” Goku asked meanwhile, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. The balloon Sanzo had given him still bobbed about his head, like a fiery red halo.

“We don’t really know. There is a projected landing site, but that’s about all I know. Of course it all depends on the winds and minute weather changes.” Hakkai kept his eyes closed as he said this, which made him seem snide and disinterested, which he wasn’t at the time. The tricky thing about Hakkai, however, was that this was his disposition a lot of the time – his plastic smile disguised the sneering well enough, but Sanzo, while hopeless at interaction, knew a thing or two about reading people, particularly people he knew well.

It was odd how his skill failed so utterly with Goku. Either there was some serious acting skill at work there, or he was a genuinely simple and kind person. Sanzo kept expecting evidence to back up the former, because the latter seemed too weird. How does one live to see (allegedly) twenty-six, become blind and not jaded, even a little, Sanzo wondered.

Then, unexpectedly, a surprising thought occured to Sanzo: he’d met in his life very few people who weren’t politicians or children or spouses of politicians. It might just be that there was a whole world of decent, honest people that had just passed him by while he sneered at the hypocrisy and mendacity of everyone in his social circle.

Koumyou had been honest, in his own peculiar way, but Sanzo attributed it to his general all-around weirdness. The guy had eaten Marmite by the spoonful, for fuck’s sake.

Sanzo’s wandering eyes trailed onto Gojyo, and he had to snort. Gojyo was, and Sanzo would shoot himself for saying this out loud, a blessing, a fact made all the more poignant by Koumyou’s death. He was a good bloke, an all-around decent guy, who burped and was inappropriate and wasn’t scared to tell Sanzo he was being a dick and a moron. He was also the first member of the working class Sanzo referred to by his first name, which had to count for something.

Sanzo came out of his reverie to yet another lungful of dog breath. Dug’s eyes were boring into him with serious questions like “where is my treat?” and “don’t you have treats for me?” written in them in block capitals.

“Is this going to be a common occurrence?” Sanzo asked no one in particular, trying to edge away from the dog and finding Hakkai in his way. “Because in that case Dug needs to brush his teeth.”

“Aww, someone has a new friend!”

“You -- can it.”

“What? What’s going on?” Goku asked plopping down to sit beside his dog.

“Dug smelled smoke, so naturally he came to see if Sanzo’s head wasn’t overheating. ‘cause of all the thinking,” Gojyo said.

“Sanzo’s thinking?” Goku asked, and he sounded so innocently amused Sanzo didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He settled for getting indignant.

“Just because you never do it, doesn’t mean no one does.”

“Dug likes Sanzo,” Goku said. Dug agreed by licking his face and barking.

“Oh joy, my life is now complete. A dog approves.”

“I said he likes you. I never said nothing about approving,” Goku retorted to Gojyo’s amusement. Even Hakkai cracked a smile.

“I like Goku,” Hakkai said, when the two morons relocated to the other side of the gondola and started something that in most civilised places would be called a fight, but considering their track record it was a mere conversation.

“And I care about this, because?”

“Sanzo, please.” Hakkai’s eyebrow indicated that this was a time for serious, honest conversation, and that there was no escaping it, because Hakkai would follow him around the two by two basket and talk, until Sanzo gave in and talked back. There was also the hint that the phrase’s intended meaning ran closer to “bitch, please,” but this Sanzo ignored for the sake of his sanity.

“Jesus fuck. What?”

“So I have noticed you seem fond of Goku,” Hakkai said in the same way people might say “So I noticed you like the colour blue.”

“He’s a useless monkey.” When Hakkai said nothing but raised the brow a little higher, Sanzo sighed. “Fine. Whatever.”

“I am merely expressing my approval.”

“Thank you. I need your approval to live.”

“No, you don’t. I am going to give it all the same.” Hakkai risked a glance at the balloon overhead, and smiled. “He’s good for you.”

“So are bananas and I don’t hear you yapping about those.”

“Bananas don’t make you smile.”

“He certainly doesn’t make me smile,” Sanzo hissed, because this was preposterous.

“Indeed.” Hakkai smirked. “I am going to drop the subject now, content in the knowledge that it has burrowed into your brain to a satisfactory degree. How about the weather?”

And so Sanzo spent the next hour discussing the cloud formation up ahead, hoping the droning would eventually drown out the voice, which had been missing and presumed dead since Koumyou had died.

“Any chance we’re going to catch up to those?” Gojyo asked when the novelty of giving the finger to someone and having them completely ignore the offence wore off.

“We were just debating that. Sanzo is of the opinion that the clouds travel at least as fast as we do, so there is no conceivable way we can catch them. I however, remain unconvinced.”

“Fascinating. I’m gonna go sit in the other corner.” Gojyo went back to Goku and Dug, and Sanzo couldn’t blame him. He was dying to escape too, but considering his options, he was better off staying where he was. His crush on Koumyou had been slow in development, and it had taken Hakkai to finally clue him in. Sanzo had no desire to repeat the aptly named inappropriate blushing incident.

******

They travelled through the sky at a lazy pace, soaking up what felt like all the sunlight, from morning, through high noon all the way to that special time between midday and sunset when even the colour black was shining and bright. Their round shadow slid over the trees and the plains, occasionally stretching into an ellipse when the ground sloped. Every now and then a bird would level with them, give them the stink eye, and disappear back into the blue. The swarm of balloons they left behind at the meadow was following them now, but far enough to make any kind of chase unnecessary. Down on the ground people were looking up and pointing, and the occasional car stopped to allow its passengers a moment of wonder at the technology that had lifted men above the clouds.

Sanzo started searching for weaponry, because poetry only started forming in his mind when he was utterly bored, and such boredom as he was experiencing now could only be alleviated by a suicide attempt.

“I’m hungry,” Goku said. He’d kicked off his shoes sometime during the flight, and amused himself for an hour or so by wiggling his toes in the wind. He really was a stupid monkey.

“It shouldn’t be long now,” Hakkai said, giving his watch a cursory glance. “It’s been over five hours, and Julio said we’d be landing inside of six.”

No wonder Sanzo was bored. He hadn’t gone this long without typing an acrimonious comment or otherwise doing something besides sitting in forever.

Fortunately, that was the moment when the pilot said something Spanish, too quickly for even Hakkai to catch, though the inflection told Sanzo it was the local variation of “fuck”. Sanzo got up to peer over the edge of the gondola, only to discover yet another military truck following them closely, and by the looks of it, the guys manning the shooting stations had harpoons.

“What the everloving mother of fuck,” he said, bringing the rest of his merry party to his spot, though for what reason Goku turned up, he had no idea.

“What? What’s going on?”

“We seem to be in trouble.”

“Again?” Goku gave a moment’s consideration to the unseen threat. “I hope they have food.”

“That’s the best you can do? I hope they have food?”

“Well, we are getting caught, yeah? I mean, you all seem pretty tense and all, so I assume that’s happening. I just hope they feed us. I’m hungry.”

“What planet is he from?” Gojyo asked of Sanzo, who shrugged.

“How should I know? I’m not an astronomer.”

They were close enough to hear voices now, at least get the gist of what the yelling on the ground meant, so when Julio killed the flames that kept them afloat, the basket filled with the oppressive silence that always accompanied impending doom. Even Dug decided to keep his mug shut for the time being, only deciding on barking again when they hit the ground and the soldiers surrounded them with guns at the ready.

“You are not earning points for originality, I hope you realise,” Hakkai said when they were ushered into the truck.

“Originality is the priority of any military, clearly.” Sanzo surprised himself by grabbing Dug and hoisting him into the back of the truck. He followed up this act of kindness with grabbing Goku’s hand and pulling him up too, sending his brain into a temporary coma caused by niceness.

“What were you expecting them to do, a dance?” Gojyo grinned at the female-shaped soldier, earning himself a glare and an order to shut up.

“That could spice things up,” Goku said, feeling around for a bench. “This is kinda repetitive.”

“Bonus points for additional syllables,” Sanzo muttered, still in shock.

“Oh? What’s the points gonna get me?”

“The way things are going?” Gojyo started to put on his most lecherous grin, prompting a vicious hiss from Sanzo. He caught himself in time, following the comment with a weak “I’m guessing free food.”

Goku brightened, which, given his natural disposition, meant he started emitting electromagnetic waves within the visible range. “Oooh, worth the effort then!”

******

Yet another ride in the back of a truck, all the more boring for the presence of what Sanzo guessed were paramilitaries, because there were no crests on their uniforms and frankly no discernible reason for any country’s military to engage in a kidnapping. Certainly not in South America, unless Sanzo’s knowledge of the current politics was even poorer than previously realised. Conversation was stilted, though from the few sparse words he heard, Sanzo discerned that all the soldiers hailed from the Isles, which made even less sense.

Then again, Sanzo mused as he looked around. I’m in a car with a cripple, a dog, an evil overlord and his minion, just like the setup to a bad knock-knock joke. You couldn’t make this stuff up if you tried.

Goku had dozed halfway through the ride, sliding down the bench and landing on Gojyo’s lap. He spent the rest of the trip blissfully oblivious to the pointlessness of everything, only waking up when Dug started barking in response to one of the soldier coming too close.

“What?” Goku shot off the bench as if bitten. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re still kidnapped,” Sanzo said. “We have no idea where we are.”

“I’m hungry.”

“That’s a shocking news item.”

The truck stopped and the soldiers opened the door to reveal more soldiers. It was shaping to be a splendid evening, fun for all involved.

“Inside,” one of the soldiers barked, ushering the whole group through a hidden doorway in the wall, hidden by a preposterous amount of foliage. Sanzo froze just looking at it, because that much wet plant meant insects and insects were not a good thing. Thankfully – or not, because knowing Hakkai there would be Hell to pay – Goku’s hand inexplicably found his and they stepped through the threshold blind, Sanzo by virtue of closing his eyes. He felt no touch of the slimy and planty nature as they walked, only the movement of air, so hopefully the curtain had been moved for his benefit.

He dared to look again when the fresh scent of the jungle breeze disappeared in favour of artificially filtered air, the like of which could be found anywhere from Vancouver to Canberra. He relaxed, if only a fraction. This was more homey.

They were led to a holding cell, a tiny hole in the wall, no more than seven by seven feet. Someone was about to open their mouth and make a comment, when Gojyo was shoved in headfirst and the door was bolted.

“I really must protest,” Hakkai started, when they stopped by the next door and he was impolitely invited to enter.

“Write a complaint,” was the suggestion before the door closed in his bespectacled face.

Goku’s hand tightened around Sanzo’s, but of course that was of little, if any, help, and when the third cell was opened, Sanzo was unceremoniously shoved inside. Thankfully without the dog, who would have been insufferable, judging by the high-pitched whine he let out when he lost Sanzo from his sight.

This was just great, Sanzo thought, sliding onto the futon placed in the corner of the cell. Fucking brilliant. Now they were alone, separated, and in barren concrete rooms, where they would starve to death before anyone rescued them. There must have been a hundred similar doors in the corridor, and God knew how many corridors, meaning there might have been a truckload of other prisoners, held for no goddamned reason.

Yeah, they were all doomed.

Sanzo lay down and stared at the ceiling. It was as empty as the rest of the room, nothing but grey concrete and an iron grille. “Fuck,” Sanzo said out loud. There was a little sink in the corner of the room, a toilet and the futon. Nothing else, except for the grille, with large, inviting screws.

Sanzo closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them, the grille was still there. He had spare change in his pockets, including pennies, so he was obliged to at least try to get the damned thing unscrewed.

He gave it a little more time, because as uneventful as the trip had been, sitting still in the presence of armed soldiers was surprisingly tiring, and his back had built up a bit of a tension ache. The futon was no less comfortable than the one he used at home, so it was no surprise then that when he allowed his mind to drift for just a moment, the next thing he remembered was the doors opening and the smell of food wafting inside.

His brain must have borrowed some lower functions from either the monkey or the mutt, because his mouth started watering before the guns pointed in his direction allowed for the rational part of it to catch up and realise there was food and that it smelled good.

The soldier put a tray on the floor and before Sanzo could make a move in its direction he was out, the two guns at the door disappeared and the door closed. “What did you think I was going to do, shoot you?” Sanzo asked, reaching out to pull the tray towards him.

Not for the first time during this madcap adventure, he surprised himself by how hungry he was. The cook they had slaving in this place was worth whatever they paid him, possibly more. It did raise some interesting questions, but for once Sanzo discovered that his higher functions weren’t as high as he liked to pretend sometimes, and that they could be easily drowned out by hunger.

The tray included a bowl of thick soup, which didn’t yield a single eyeball when stirred, so Sanzo ate it without qualms. He hesitated when he arrived at the pie-shaped dessert, because nothing which looked that plastic could possibly be edible, so he finished the meal by helping himself to a glass of water from the sink. He had to fight his gag reflex, because his brain chose that moment to wake up and remind him what dangers lay in drinking tap water in tropical countries, but fortunately his inner survivor was more of a warrior than his inner mysophobe.

Not too long after that there was a tapping on the door and again three soldiers, with guns at the ready, let themselves in to collect the tray. “Where’s the knife?” the soldier on point asked, and automatically the guns behind his back rose to attention.

Sanzo returned his glare, full force. “I don’t know. Under the thing you call pie, perhaps?”

It was, but if the venomous gaze he got was any indication, he would find no friends in this corner of the world, not any time soon. “I never called it a pie,” the soldier said as he left, taking the tray with him.

Sanzo rolled his eyes at the empty room. As soon as the lock clicked shut, he was up on the sink, balancing on one foot, with the other braced against the wall opposite, while Sanzo started unscrewing the grille with a penny.

TBC  


* * *

 

The screws gave in easily. Within minutes Sanzo was removing the grille and peering into the poorly lit vent. There were regular spots of light in every direction, close enough to imply this was a way to move through holding cells. Sanzo inspected the inside of the hole. The bolts had been drilled into the wall, but whoever had planned the move had been far from a construction genius, because they had drilled into plaster and that was easy enough for Sanzo to dig out with a coin, helping himself by breaking nails when necessary.

“Hey mate, fancy seeing you here!”

Sanzo started and almost fell off the sink. “The hell?” he hissed at Gojyo, whose head was visible twelve feet down to the right.

“What? It’s not rocket science, you know.”

“What did you unscrew it with?”

“Swiss Army Knife.”

“You have a Swiss Army Knife?”

“Hey, I go camping, and I sometimes need to screw things while on a plane. I need it.”

“I object to your wording,” Hakkai’s disembodied voice said from behind the grille between Gojyo and Sanzo.

“You know what I mean.”

“The objection stands.”

“Overruled,” Sanzo said before this could escalate. “Oi, monkey!”

Silence.

Sanzo tried again, with exactly the same results. “Fucking moron. He’s probably asleep.”

“Or, he’s not there,” Hakkai said, and Sanzo would have shot him for the careless tone, had he a gun, the skill and a clear shot. “Is there a way to get out of this place through the vents?”

“Sure, they seem wide enough.” Sanzo saw, out of the corner of his eye, Gojyo grasp the edges of the vent hole and hoist his upper half into the narrow tunnel. He got all the way in, quite a feat with his lanky limbs and not enough joints, and started hacking away at the plaster that kept Hakkai’s grille in place.

Sanzo called again, this time for Dug, but there was no answer.

“Fuck,” he hissed, jumping off the sink. Why wasn’t the moron next to them?

“Wait, Gojyo,” Hakkai said suddenly. His voice carried into Sanzo’s cell with no trouble. “I’ve been thinking. These doors are bolted, aren’t they?”

“I think so.”

“As far as I recall they weren’t locked when we came in. Perhaps we could get out through another cell, if you think you can get that far.”

Gojyo sounded like he was considering it. “Worth a shot, I guess. Crawling backwards: my favourite thing ever,” he muttered and then shuffling noises, accompanied by the occasional curse, filled the vent.

The plan was sound, however, because not ten minutes later the door to Sanzo’s cell swung open and the dynamic duo appeared, both troubled. “Goku’s not in the next cell. Nor in any on this corridor.”

“You checked them all?”

“The doors were open. All it took was a peak.”

“Thank you so much for opening mine first,” Sanzo said with a roll of his eyes and stepped into the brightly lit corridor. “What now?”

“The exit was this way.” Hakkai extended his arm in the appropriate direction and continued, as though there was ever any doubt, “But I don’t think we should leave without Goku.”

“Hell no. I’m totally keeping the kid.” Gojyo crossed his arms. “What?” he asked, seeing their incredulous – or furious, depending on the person – gazes. “He is fun. The dog is fun. I’m a dog person, and you won’t even let me have a hamster.”

“You had fish, which I remember you killed.”

“That was an accident! How was I to know it was salt water? Who the fuck keeps salty water in a bottle in the kitchen?”

“I was ill at the time, if you recall.”

Sanzo glared at the two of them. “Can we skip the home medicine talk and perhaps do something?”

“Aww, someone is missing our little monkey!”

“Someone is going to be missing his teeth in a minute, so why don’t you shut up,” Sanzo said. Worry was gnawing at his stomach. Where the hell was Goku? He couldn’t have been the reason for the kidnapping, could he?

It wasn’t that Sanzo had a swollen ego and therefore naturally assumed everything was about him, not entirely. He was the son of a prominent politician and bit of a reclusive star in his own right, so he was used to being the centre of attention, even if he hated every minute of it. The idea that, somehow, he was only a background player to a Joe Average in what looked like an international incident was inconceivable and therefore unsettling.

“Do we have a plan?” Gojyo asked.

“Get the monkey and get out,” Sanzo said tersely.

“I see. How are we planning on accomplishing this feat?”

“Get the monkey and get out. Did I acquire a speech impediment in the last hour?”

“I would expect that a plan that involves sneaking past a number of armed men needs a degree of sophistication that exceeds in-grab-out.”

“Do you have a better plan?”

“I don’t think I have enough information to formulate a plan.”

“I guess standing here and yapping is furthering our goals, like wow.” Gojyo waved his hands in the air but stopped short of smacking his two friends over the head. A sensible move on his part, considering Sanzo would have broken his arm.

The decision was less a glorious consent by all involved as the result of inertia and Sanzo refusing to continue talking. He started in the direction that would lead them away from the exit, in the hopes that sooner or later the path would be labelled. “Monkeys this way” would be a handy tag to find in their situation.

Thankfully, they found the facility deserted. Only once did they have to hide in a handy cell, as a patrol walked on by, and then it was empty corridors again, all the way to an inconspicuous staircase and a very conspicuous lift.

“Jesus fuck.”

“Leave Jesus out of this, Sanzo.”

“This thing is huge,” Gojyo said, studying a map nailed to a pillar opposite the elevator. “Which one of you has a secret super-spy identity?”

“Did you confuse reality with movies again?”

“Do you have a better explanation? We are in the middle of the jungle, in some sort of military base, the only thing that’s missing is a hat and a whip.”

“Left those in my other trousers,” Sanzo said, revelling in the wonder and shock on Gojyo’s face.

“ _Holy shit!_ ” Gojyo exclaimed, heedless, not that this was a surprise, of their surrounding. “The giant stick up your arse, someone stole it!”

“Stick your face in a blender.”

The elevator lights indicated it was in the lower levels, although precisely where was hard to tell, because the numbers were bleeding into one another. There could have been anywhere from two to seven storeys, and the elevator was anywhere between them.

They went down the stairs, pausing at every landing to listen for footsteps that weren’t echoes of their own. There were none, though once or twice they heard the whirr of a lift in motion. It breezed through the first two levels, further cementing the notion there was nothing of interest there. They looked, just to be sure, but the levels seemed much like the first – concrete and more concrete, with the occasional door. There was therefore no point in wasting time inspecting the corridors on levels minus one and two. As Hakkai pointed out reasonably, if Goku was in a holding cell, then the logic of putting him anywhere but in the next cell implied kidnapping endeavour was lacking in logic, and they had been doomed in their rescue attempts from the start.

The moment they reached level minus three, they knew they’d hit the jackpot. The décor was significantly different : instead of the grey concrete there was rich purple, instead of uniform slabs there were pillars and nooks with vases and paintings and drapery hanging whenever more than fifteen square feet of wall were available.

This corridor, unlike the upper ones, was also noisy. Music thrummed through the air, as did voices and laughter.

Then, in between other sounds, there was a bark.

“Well, we are in the right place,” Hakkai whispered, and then they rushed back up a landing, because squealing indicated someone female was coming.

A group of women passed the entrance to the staircase, giggling and waving their arms. A few of them were carrying glasses of red wine. That, however, was a minor detail. Even Sanzo, who had been homosexual ever since he was born, and for whom female fashion was of as much personal importance as global warming was to the Morlock society, was struck by the utter wrongness of the garb the women had donned.

The lady at the forefront of the group was wearing a couch with ribbons, plus a hairdo that included a small stuffed bird. Her bosom buddy, as indicated by their linked arms, wore a gown that wouldn’t be out of place in a Roman circus, while the other two had picked periods in-between.

“Something is very weird,” Gojyo said, but then another group crossed the corridor, men this time, also dressed up.

“I think,” Hakkai started saying, and Sanzo groaned in advance, because he could guess what was happening next, “that we need to change.”

“I don’t carry wigs in my luggage,” Sanzo hissed.

“We have no luggage, but I imagine there is some sort of a dressing room around. In any case, the ladies at least spoke English, and I assume that when you throw a theme party this elaborate, there are spare costumes around.”

“Time for Barbie dolls and dress-up is long past, Hakkai.”

“Do me a favour, Sanzo, and remain silent. I’ve wanted to dress you up ever since we met.”

“Excuse me?”

“For someone who grew up in the house of a politician, you have no respect for the power of the wardrobe. Or the appropriate colours for a man of your complexion.”

“That’s because I’m not a queer.”

“I would outline the problems inherent in speaking a dialect of English that’s not understandable to any other man, but I think it would be an exercise in futility.”

“My father loves you, you know that? Last I heard, you topped his list of adoptees to exchange me for.”

Hakkai gave the statement a thought. “I might take him up on it, if I ever decide politics is my calling.”

“Like there isn’t an empire of evil with your name on it, somewhere in the world.”

“If you’re referring to the Madagascar incident, that was hardly my fault.”

“Much as I love hearing about my future as king consort, can we maybe continue after we get the monkey?” Gojyo held up his hands in surrender, when the both of them turned to give him a look. “I’m just saying.”

Five minutes later Sanzo’s nightmares were coming true. They found the dressing room, which had already been half-emptied, but still boasted a wide selection of masculine and feminine costumes, most of them for men. The best costumes for women had been picked out already, leaving behind only the couches and the settees.

“No,” Sanzo said every time Hakkai opened his mouth, browsing the racks for something not too embarrassing. Gojyo had no qualms and within moments he was checking out the cowboy hats to go with his leather trousers and a whip.

Finally Sanzo found something that didn’t offend his delicate sensibilities and could pass for real clothes. It included trousers with a little more room to them than he was used to, but the boots he had to grudgingly approve of and the leather jacket he was stealing, regardless of propriety. He’d never been a fan of buckles and leather, but this jacket deserved attention.

A leather cap and goggles completed the outfit and Sanzo allowed himself a look in the mirror. With his hair hidden by the cap and the goggles low on his forehead, he would be hard to recognise at a casual glance, which was the whole point to the charade. Gojyo, on the other hand, didn’t give a thought to disguise. He looked like he’d just walked out off the set of a Clint Fuckwood movie.

Hakkai took a more sensible approach to disguise, but Sanzo didn’t dare to look at him much. It was scary how well the uniform fit him.

“If we’re done with dress-up, perhaps it’s time to have a look around?” Sanzo said. He was about to march out of the dressing room, when a large plastic box, not unlike a portable cooler, caught his attention. “What the fuck?”

It turned out to be full of fake teeth in sterile plastic wrappings.

“Am I the only one getting the feeling someone is unhinged?” Gojyo leaned over the box and picked up a set Klaus Kinski would have been proud to wear.

“It looks like a splendid party.” Hakkai considered and when he made his selection, Sanzo found it prudent to grab the first pair of fangs that hit his hand and exit, because Hakkai with fangs inspired the purchase of titanium neckguards and a speedy retreat.

The party was being held in a grand hall, the likes of which went out of fashion along with monarchy. Roman empire wouldn’t have be ashamed of this shindig, Sanzo thought, blinking in what could only be termed astonished disbelief. There were dozens of -- hell, over a hundred -- people in attendance, each on in costume, and about a half of them were making out.

“Why don’t you ever take me to these kind of parties?” Gojyo whispered into Sanzo’s ear. “You’re a horrible, horrible boyfriend.”

“Hakkai is over there.” Sanzo pointed, because his brain was giving up and relegating the sarcasm to his liver.

“I know. I’m scared to look at him right now.”

“There’s Goku,” Hakkai said suddenly. Sanzo started and followed his gaze. There was Goku indeed, sitting on a low settee by a table laden with food. Both the table and the settee were atop a dais at the far end of the hall. Little moron must have been in hog heaven.

“I’m going to kill him,” Sanzo said, when the movement of the party revealed that it was the only such table and that Goku was therefore clearly the guest of honour.

“Wait,” Hakkai said, grasping his arm. “We don’t know if he’s here by choice.”

“Why the fuck else would he be here?”

“There’s this revolutionary idea called kidnapping. Look it up someday.”

“You are trying to tell me we were all kidnapped so that Goku could be invited to a creepy-fuck party,” Sanzo said, glowering from his corner at the damn blind guy, who sat there like he was king of the world. Strangely though, the longer he looked, the less sense the picture made. Goku wasn’t comfortable. He was sitting straight as a string, as though he’d vibrate if you touched him, and Dug was the picture of a dog at attention. There was a plate filled with food on Goku’s lap, but it wasn’t getting nearly as much attention as Sanzo had seen him give food on past occasions. “On second thought, you might be right.”

“I usually am.”

Just then someone broke out of the crowd and sauntered up the stairs that separated Goku’s dais from the dance floor. It was a dark-haired man, Sanzo saw, and he wasn’t even dressed up. His only concession to the occasion was a billowing robe the colour of the sky at sunset: lilac and red. The man settled at the monkey’s side, picking up a glass of wine as he sat. Dug growled, at least Sanzo assumed so from his expression, but the man wouldn’t be dissuaded.

Though from his angle Sanzo couldn’t see how close together they were sitting, he triangulated the approximate distance to be Not Big, and smaller still when the mysterious man leaned towards Goku playfully.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Sanzo hissed viciously, hiding in the shadows the pillar cast. “Dismember his corpse and burn it.”

“Yeah, let no one say you ain’t a possessive bitch.”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve been saying that so much it’s lost all meaning.”

“No, it’s lost all meaning, because you don’t understand English.”

“I understand English fine. It’s Sanzoesque that I have trouble with.”

“I do wonder, from time to time, how the two of you survived skydiving together, when you seem to lose all track of time when arguing.” Hakkai smiled and Sanzo was this close to throwing his arms around Gojyo in fright. This close. Hakkai should have been outlawed by the Geneva Convention long ago. The man was a deadly weapon!

“I’m going to get him,” Sanzo said, but Hakkai appeared in his way yet again.

“Reconsider. Goku is here, and he is safe. What we need is a garage of some sort and means of transport.”

“You think there is a car with our name on it, parked conveniently outside?”

“No. Which is precisely my point. What on earth do you plan to do when you interrupt the man’s party,” Hakkai paused to allow two lady vampires to pass. Gojyo looked after them appreciatively, though Sanzo never got the appeal tits were supposed to have. “Steal his guest and then what? Hide in the shadows and wait?”

Fucker had a good point. “Fine, whatever.”

“Splendid. Gojyo, you stay and keep an eye on Goku.”

Sanzo’s protest was silenced by an iron grip on his arm. “Why him?” he hissed as they walked casually away from the hall, in the direction the discreet exit signs pointed.

“Because Gojyo knows his parties. He will dance and drink and hopefully draw little attention to himself in a crowd of dancing, drinking people -- something that I think is far beyond your or my capabilities.”

“And letting the idiot get blind drunk will help us how?”

“One: separating the two of you will prevent loud arguments along the way. That in itself is a worthy path to take. Two: Goku seems safe, but a friendly eye in the crowd never hurts. Three: this is more your scene than mine, so I assume you’d be more likely to find a potential hiding place for a car.”

“The last one makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Unless I’m much mistaken, this is less of a sinister temple and more of a rich man’s abode. Ergo, your territory.”

“Have you been to my flat lately,” Sanzo said, taking a left turn. “Garage is that way.”

It was. The lavish decorations grew scarce as they wandered through the labyrinth of concrete passages, gradually giving way to a more utilitarian, militaristic approach to architecture. So far there’d been no soldiers to evade, and in no time at all they made it to heavy door labelled EXIT in large, luminescent, block capitals. Beyond the door they found several trucks, three Jeeps and an astonishing Aston Martin.

“We are not taking that car,” Sanzo said when Hakka paused with his hand on the shiny silver hood. “It’ll be rubbish in the jungle.”

“It is a beautiful car.”

“Wait for your birthday. Do you know how to hotwire a Jeep?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Hakkai looked around and jogged to a cabinet not far from the door. A loud crack echoed through the garage, but Hakkai returned seconds later with a set of keys. “That should do it.”

“Great. Let’s get the two idiots and vamoose.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Hakkai said and smiled.

TBC  


* * *

 

It took minimal care to wander back to the ballroom undetected. There was the occasional soldier wandering the halls, but no one bothered the two of them.

“Wait,” Hakkai said as they passed a room whose door screamed “office”. Sanzo looked around, but for the moment they were alone in the corridor, so no one saw them go in.

The interior was like the worst nightmare of an office clerk. The concrete walls were bare, the furniture made of metal and the chair gave you backache just by standing there, ready to take your weight off your feet and put it in your loins. “Any reason we’re still in here?”

“There’s no computer.”

“I can see that,” Sanzo groused, but he his attention had already been diverted by the bookcases. Near to the floor there was a metal box, such as one would use to hide precious papers, or money. “Do you see a key?”

A moment’s search had Hakkai procuring a tiny key that fit the case. Inside, Sanzo found four passports.

“We really need to get out of here,” he said, shutting the lid on the unease that also emanated from the box. Where had the passports come from? He was certain his was in the moderate safety of a kitchen cabinet, back home. How had it got here?

No time for such concerns, he told himself sternly. The party’s progression meant that inevitably people would choose to wander the luscious halls, some in search of a secluded spots for poorly-lit sex, others for conversation that the loud music made impossible.

“How do you plan to get Goku out of there?” Sanzo asked, side-stepping around a humongous Marie-Antoinette figure. A double-take in the middle of the manoeuvre sent him careening into Hakkai.

The guy certainly made the corset work, Sanzo thought, with a pang of what could have been envy, if only because at one point in his life he felt that he ought to have been born a girl. Fortunately, then he had come to the revolutionary conclusion that binaries only really worked in mathematics.

“I have no idea.”

“You have no idea.”

“What were you expecting? Our best bet is to sneak in there, talk to him, and leave, undetected.”

“Which is going to be so easy in a crowd.”

“Which is going to be a piece of fluffy meringue pie in a crowd of drunken, dancing, costumed people.” Hakkai offered a smile that bordered on the psychopathic. “Ask him to dance.”

“No.”

“Fine, we’ll have Gojyo dance with him.”

“No!”

“Desperation is unbecoming.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The possessive act is going to get you nowhere with Goku. Hitting over the head and dragging them to your cave went out of fashion some ten thousand years ago, and is frowned upon nowadays. Give the boy some space to breathe.”

“So says the man who’s got a campaign underway.”

“Ah, that’s different. Gojyo has been introduced to the dangers of smoking, understands the medical issues, up to and including impotence and has expressed tentative interest in quitting. I merely elaborated.” Hakkai shrugged elegantly, awarding Sanzo yet another of his famous half-smiles. Why on Earth no one had put forth the idea that this grin would best suit a lawyer was beyond Sanzo.

“Funny how often a hostile takeover starts like that,” he said noncommittally. Hakkai seemed happy in his chosen profession, and Sanzo was able to sleep at night, content in the knowledge that no child of his would ever be moulded in that man’s image. He sometimes wondered how the parents of Hakkai’s pupils slept, though of course the obvious answer was they didn’t and it was the sleep deprivation that motivated the decision to entrust their spawn to Satan’s care.

Sanzo cared deeply for Hakkai. He truly did. This was not the time for such musings, however.

They stood in the shifting shadows at the entrance to the ballroom, watching the situation unfold. Goku was still on the dais, conversing with the freak. Sanzo gritted his teeth.

“There’s Gojyo,” Hakkai said, taking hold of Sanzo’s arm. Gojyo was grinding with a towering flock of feathers and sequins. There was a fluffy, lime-green boa on his neck, which made for a spectacular piece of visual foreshadowing for what Sanzo’s arm was going through.

“Hakkai?”

“Yes?”

“Desperation is unbecoming.”

“What?”

“You are cutting off my circulation.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“What was it you said about possessiveness and hitting them over the head?”

“Do shut up.”

“Oh man, you look scary!” Sanzo and Hakkai turned as one to face one of the partygoers, a kid, who was staring at Hakkai with awe. There was a joint in the corner of his mouth, and the kid’s breath dispersed the smoke right into Sanzo’s face. “Great job!”

To Sanzo’s horror, Hakkai responded by revealing a hint of fang in a shadowed smile that sent the kid, squealing in delight, back into the crowd.

“We better move, unless we want an audience.” Hakkai smiled again, thankfully this time without showing teeth, and nodded in the direction of the dais. “Try to leave the hall unseen.”

“Try not to leave with a corpse on your back.”

“Likewise.”

Hakkai dived into the crowd with enviable ease, leaving Sanzo mapping out people-free paths to Goku, but for one of those he’d have to fly. He took a deep breath, snapped the goggles on – there was no telling how many others had smokes to blow into his eyes – and stepped into the fray. One thing that immediately became apparent was that there were too many elbows, given the possible amount of people in the vicinity. Sanzo fought against the elbowed monster, but – and here was a revelation to note in his diary – crowds were easier to get through without the fight.

Sanzo discovered that when he took advantage of the natural undulation of the mass of people he could travel without effort in any direction, which landed him at the foot of the dais in no time at all.

It took a moment to realise that he was face to face with dog breath, and that the low growling sound was not the music. “The hell is your problem, you mutt?” Sanzo hissed, when a step back proved to be impossible. Fortunately for the unbitten state of his face, Dug suddenly changed his tune and yipped, following which Sanzo’s face got a good tonguing.

“Monkey! Put a leash on the dog!”

“Sanzo?” Goku’s head rised. He tried looking around, discovered he was still blind, then slid to the end of the settee, in Sanzo’s direction. “Is that you?”

“No, my evil twin. Let’s go, before that freak shows back here.”

“Hells yeah.” Goku reached out until his hand touched the top of Sanzo’s head, found his shoulders and walked off the dais, landing in Sanzo’s arms. “I was worried when you weren’t here. Where are Hakkai and Gojyo?”

“Around. Let’s hope the mutt doesn’t get stepped on.” Sanzo grasped Goku’s hand, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“Why hello there,” said a smarmy voice and Sanzo froze. He knew that voice. Oh holy fucking hell.

“Um, I wanted to dance?”

“Interesting.” Sanzo felt the gaze travel down Goku’s arm, to Sanzo and then onto his goggles. “And who might you be, to be stealing my precious guest?”

“None of your business,” Sanzo snapped, foolishly, as he realised not a second later.

“Curious, as I am the host of this ball, and I saw to every invitation personally.” There was a merry little twinkle in his eye. Sanzo longed to punch his face in. “I don’t think I am wrong when I question your presence.”

Fuck. Sanzo considered the concrete cells, the metal toilet and the unsanitary sink. “Awesome party you throw, Homura, if your guests get ID checks all the time, by their drunk host, no less. What are you now, the party police?”

“Ah, perhaps I am a bit tipsy.” Homura took a seat on the edge of the settee, avoiding Dug, who clearly disapproved of the proximity. “I didn’t mean offence. You are stealing my precious Goku, however, and that is a little annoying.”

“Hey, hey. What’s with the name calling,” Goku said, waving his free arm around. “Look, you’re nice and all, but tone it the hell down. I’ve- well, no, I don’t have a girlfriend, but I’m not going out with you.”

“Really now, it’s not nice to crush a man’s heart so thoroughly.” Homura knelt at the edge of the dais and leaned in towards Goku, so close their noses almost touched.

Sanzo rolled his eyes. “Quit it with the guilt trips and leave the kid alone. He wants to dance. Let him dance.”

“With you.” Homura gave Sanzo a long stare, raising the soft hair at the back of his neck. “He wants to dance with you, when he wouldn’t dance with me.”

Sanzo felt a swell of pride. Fuck you, you smug motherfucker; Goku liked him better. “What, it’s my fault, all of sudden?”

“Isn’t it?”

“You know what? Fuck you,” Sanzo said, ignoring Goku’s nails, which dug into the skin of his hand. “Lay off the paranoia for ten minutes, and enjoy your own party. Someone’s got pot somewhere over in that corner.”

“Oh, I know.” Homura grinned as he surveyed his ball and Sanzo got ready to run. The moment Homura’s head was turned, he dived into the crowd, urging Goku into a run.

They were almost out of the crowd when Homura shouted and the party ground to a halt. Fortunately at that time it was easy to elbow their way out of the crowd and rush through the door. Sanzo cast one last look at the hall, at the darkened mass of costumes and gleaming fangs. Then, through the darkness and strobe lights, he heard Homura’s voice and the distant sound of alarms.

“…they are armed and dangerous. Stay where you are.”

Oh fuck, Sanzo thought, and ran. Dug cheerfully took point, barking at every corner they took. Before long they ran into Hakkai and Gojyo, who were either fucking behind a pillar, or having a very unpronounceable argument. Sanzo didn’t want to know.

“What happened?” Hakkai asked, when he deigned to notice they had company.

“Nothing.”

Above their heads, orange lamps started rotating and flashing in their casing. There was the subtle, but unmistakeable sound of an alarm being sounded throughout, belying Sanzo’s reply.

“Sanzo, I distinctly recall requesting a silent, problem-free escape.”

“I recall something being said about desperation and jealousy.”

“Oh?” Goku piped up. “What did you do?”

“Gojyo was flirting. It occurred to me our agreement wasn’t properly verbalised.” Hakkai gave Gojyo a look, which would have sent even the bravest of man cowering in fear.

“Because ‘verbalising’ is what you were doing behind the pillar.”

“Lay off, dude. Don’t hate on us for getting laid once in a while.”

“Yes, excuse me. Let’s maybe consider an escape first?” Goku waved his hand in the direction of the corridor, into which Dug’s nose was pointing.

“I’d love to,” Hakkai said. “There was the garage… Sanzo, which way was the garage?”

Sanzo bit back a snarky comment with difficulty. “It should be that way.” That way was a barren, concrete corridor, all the more eerie for its bluish light scheme. He was reasonably sure that was the way to go, but the colours of the base changed since he last walked the corridor, which seemed to have wrecked his internal compass.

They pressed on regardless, rounding every corner with care. The sounds of the party behind them had not ceased. If anything the alarms and flashing lights had extended the discotheque into the whole underground.

“Shit,” Sanzo said suddenly. “We didn’t check the exits.”

“What exits?”

“The garage. Where the hell is the exit out of the garage?”

Hakkai looked around a corner, turned back with a finger to his lips. “Patrol,” he mouthed. The foursome froze, their backs plastered against the wall. Sanzo tried to recall the flooring plan, how far they’d gone, how far they had yet to go and what were the odds Homura was behind the corner and would stand still long enough for Sanzo to punch him in the face.

No sooner had the echo of the heavy boots quieted, when Hakkai motioned them to move forward, and Dug let out a sharp bark. Sanzo turned in time to see a heavy shoe fly towards his face. Years of sitting in front of a computer dulled his reflexes so that he barely managed to let out an undignified yelp, before the shoe changed course and, in a graceful arch, hit the floor.

“What?” Sanzo managed, when the owner of the shoe groaned, and Goku delivered a harsh slap to the face of another soldier, elbowed her in the gut, grabbed her arm and effortlessly sent her flying into a wall. When he straightened there was a gun in his hand, pointed at the far wall.

“Um. Sorry?” he said, dropping the gun and wiping his hands on his trousers. Dug lolled out his tongue and sniffed at the groaning duo on the floor. “Are they okay?”

“They have goons to look out for them. Let’s move it.” Gojyo grabbed Goku by the arm and herded him into the empty corridor. Hakkai followed, dragging Sanzo behind. “What was that, by the way?”

“What was what?”

Gojyo, by way of answering, snapped his fingers in front of Goku’s face. “This. Are you blind or what?”

“No, I walk into walls for fun.”

“So what gives?”

“I dunno. Koumyou said that there’s nothing wrong with my eyes, just the brain tissue, and brain is fuzzy, so that sometimes I can see stuff without actually seeing stuff.”

Sanzo started, but just then they reached a turn, and he had to focus on the way.

“That makes so much sense. While we’re at it, do you have wisdom to impart on the subject of economy?” Gojyo said, clearly not caring for logical progression.

“’s got money in it?”

“It’s a wonder no one’s made you a professor yet.” Gojyo gave the left turn a cursory glance. Finding it empty, he continued with the conversation, unperturbed by the overall situation. “So we covered the part in which you kick arse, how about the part where you kick arse?”

“Karate?”

“You did karate? They’ve got a blind fury division?”

“Stupid cockroach. What, making fun of me is your way of getting over being gay?”

“Okay, who the hell said I’m gay?” Gojyo paused in the middle of the corridor, waving his arms. “That’s a filthy lie.”

“Remind me to get you a t-shirt,” Hakkai looked around the next corner, found it safe, and urged the lot of them forward. “It will look particularly flattering when you’re blowing me. I might even take pictures, frame them and send them out as Christmas cards.”

“Don we now our gay apparel,” Goku and Gojyo intoned in perfect synch, with Dug providing background vocals.

“How is that no one has arrested the two of you yet?” Sanzo elbowed his way to the front of the group and smouldered with anger until they reached the garage door. It wasn’t closed. Sanzo was insulted.

“That’s a lucky coincidence.” Hakkai said, casting a longing glance at the Aston Martin.

“I’m starting to suspect stupidity at work.”

“Considering your track record, this is a huge improvement. I couldn’t be more proud.” Hakkai dared to pat Sanzo’s shoulder as they piled into the Jeep. He snapped his seatbelt on just as the door flew open and the soldiers started rushing into the garage, prompting Hakkai to floor the gas pedal and – with a squeal of the tyre loud enough to make Hollywood as a whole take notes – spring out of the parking space in the direction suggested by the arrows.

Sanzo wasn’t sure whether to chalk this up to rampant stupidity or just compliance with the fire code, but within the minute they were rolling out of the concreted base and into the starlit night.

“Wow. That was easy.” Gojyo stretched in the back seat. Dug, who had made himself comfortable between Gojyo and Goku, raised his head to bark his agreement, then curled on the seat again.

“Where are we going now?” Goku asked.

“Good question.” The dirt road ended abruptly, the stones and sand giving way to an even surface of asphalt. Hakkai, without giving it much thought, rolled onto it, braked like crazy to avoid a collision with a minivan, then claimed the middle lane and floored it.

“I am never getting in the same car as you again. Remind me why is he driving again?” Sanzo turned to Gojyo, who was holding on to his seat with one hand, holding Dug in place with the other.

“Because I’ve never driven outside the UK and you haven’t driven ever.”

“I’ve driven bumper cars. That would do.”

“It wouldn’t,” Hakkai said, overtaking a lorry and causing a few heart attacks, because the midline of the road got straddled in the process, to say the least.

“Wait, Sanzo. You drove bumper cars?” Sanzo heard the seatbelt unroll, the only cue before Goku’s warm breath tickled his ear. “You went to a carnival and drove bumper cars?”

“In my defence, I was ten.”

“Man, I’d totally go! I figure if I act normal and it’s not a busy day, I could have a go. I had my licence revoked.”

“Whoever decided on this glaring injustice?” Gojyo said, shoving Goku back into his seat as Hakkai started on another series of death-defying manoeuvres. Overhead, a sign pointed right, though to what exactly it was hard to tell. Hakkai swerved again, prompting a loud protest from his passengers.

“It’s an airport!” he yelled when the trees surrounding the road thinned, revealing a steel structure in the distance.

“Finally, some civilisation,” Gojyo muttered. “Though I’ll give them that: the views are spectacular.”

Sanzo agreed privately. They were pretty high on a mountain, overlooking the expanse of the plains with few villages scattered here and past them, in the distance, the ocean.

“Uh oh,” Hakkai said all of sudden. The steering wheel jerked and they split off into a narrow road, which only deserved the name because of the tyre tracks that offered the suggestion that some others had chosen the path.

“What the fuck?” Sanzo asked, narrowly avoiding decapitation by a tree branch.

“Military outpost.”

“We want to get to the damn airport.”

“With uniformed troops following us? We’ll be lucky not to get drugs shoved into our pockets.”

“Airports would have police,” Sanzo said, even though he had to admit the idea of being detained sounded very unappealing at the moment.

“If not the airport, what?” Gojyo asked. Hakkai waited until the road was horizontal again before replying.

“There’s a marina. We can hitch a ride with someone there.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my life.” Sanzo heard this, and groaned. Even without looking he knew Gojyo was grinning like a lunatic. “Awesome.”

“How precisely do you plan on hitching a ride across the Atlantic?” Sanzo asked, turning to Hakkai.

“I was counting on your cooperation.”

“Am I famous for hiding kayaks in my pockets? Because this is news to me!”

“Sanzo.”

“Shut up.”

“Sanzo.”

“What?” Gojyo asked from the back seat. “He really doesn’t have a kayak in his back pocket. We’d have noticed.”

“No, but he does have an aunt, who’s cruising the marinas of Venezuela.”

“I do?” Sanzo asked stupidly, gazing out of the windscreen. Last he’d heard the annoying know-it-all woman was in the Caribbean. Of course that had been March, she would have moved on since then. “What do I look like, a family calendar?”

“What are the odds your aunt is anywhere near here?” Goku asked. This was probably a fair question. Sanzo considered. Hakkai oftentimes visited, and he wasn’t shy about answering Sanzo’s phone. It was entirely possible that the damn woman had called to check in, and Hakkai simply hadn’t relayed the message.

Or he had, and Sanzo had simply ignored it.

“We need a phone,” Sanzo said. “Now.”

TBC  


* * *

 

Sanzo felt naked and there was something trying to nag its way into the forefront of his skull. He ignored it for the time being. The phone booth was made of sheer plastic; anyone willing to take a shot could have his skull splattered all over the disgusting, filthy phone before Sanzo could punch in 1, or however the alarm number started in this clusterfuck of a country. The cheery sticker that in most civilised places would have informed the caller which buttons to press when their stomachs sprouted leaking holes had been torn off a long while ago. Thankfully Hakkai had had the foresight to plunder the glove compartment and the trunk of the Jeep and he found not only a pair of jeans with spare change, but also a first-aid kit, containing a pair of rubber gloves.

The gloves were the only reason Sanzo was still inside the booth.

… but if the damn woman didn’t pick up her phone, he was going to break something.

Finally, at the third call and fifth signal, success.

“Before you say anything,” said the low, female voice on the other end. “You should know I’m having really good sex right now, so it had better be a matter of life and death, and you had better be important enough.”

“Shut up and listen to me,” Sanzo snapped. “I’m in trouble.”

“Yes, you are. Who are you again?”

Sanzo rolled his eyes. “It’s Sanzo. You’re the one who insists on calling all the time.”

“Sanzo, dear boy. You cannot fault me for not recognising your voice; we haven’t spoken in years!”

“Don’t dramatise. I’m in trouble.” Sanzo gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath but continued. “I need your help.”

“That is something to behold.” Good old auntie Kanzeon laughedinto the receiver, her breathlessness proving that she wasn’t kidding about the sex, and Sanzo started contemplating just how bad the Venezuelan prisons had to be to qualify as inferior to this. “I would love to help, but I’m in South America right now.”

“Strangely enough, so am I. Don’t ask.”

“Did you get yourself arrested for drug smuggling?”

“Do I look stupid to you?”

“Silly question. How can I help?”

Venezuelan prison was gaining appeal, fast.

“We need to get out of here, fast, and planes are not an option.”

“Wonderful. This I can arrange. Where are you and who is we?”

“Some town. Carupano, apparently.” Sanzo rolled his eyes at the piece of paper Hakkai cleverly pressed against the glass.

“Splendid! We could be there in a couple of hours. Unless you have transport?”

“A car.”

“Even better. East of Carupano, down the seashore, there’s a place called El Morro Del Puerto Santo. What is it, five miles?” Sanzo heard a male voice grunt something in the background. “Ten. Doesn’t matter much, with a car. We’ll try and finish by the time you get here, but I’m not making any promises. The marina is on the west side!”

With that remark Kanzeon hung up, though not without scarring Sanzo for life first.

“I could have lived my whole life without hearing that,” he told Hakkai as he exited the booth.

“I’m not going to ask. What did she say?”

“She’s busy having sex. We have to find our own way to a place called El Morro Del Puerto. It’s supposed to be ten miles east from here.”

“That is good news.”

“Fucking splendid,” Sanzo said, peeling the gloves off his hands. He hated the feeling of rubber, but he hated the touch of public phones way more.

“Into the car, gentlemen. We must be off,” Hakkai said.

Goku said nothing. A casual inspection revealed he was asleep with his head pillowed on Gojyo’s knee, again. Dug was equally out of it, having squeezed himself into the space between Goku’s dangling legs and the seat.

“Is he narcoleptic? How the fuck is he able to just sleep at the drop of a hat?”

“No idea, but I wish I could.” Gojyo stretched his neck. “Can we get a move on?”

******

The night was clear and bright. The moon was waxing; in a week its full face would be smiling down at the world. Sanzo hoped they would be far, far away by then, even if in the darkness he felt almost peaceful.

As Kanzeon had promised, there was a marina ten miles down the road, largely asleep at this late hour. Hakkai parked at the base of the peninsula, hiding the Jeep among the trees.

“Which yacht belongs to your aunt?” Hakkai asked as they walked down the marina.

“It’s white,” Sanzo said, fully aware that this disqualified a reddish motorboat, whose peeling paint added a couple extra layers of colour, and the motorboat alone.

“Helpful. Any other clues?”

Sanzo looked ahead and immediately hid his face in his palm. “Look for a half-naked insane woman on the bridge.”

“Ah,” Hakkai said, and that right there was the most common reaction to Kanzeon. No wonder every single family member chipped in to her trust fund, just to keep her out of the country.

“She’s got awesome tits,” Gojyo said, earning himself a polite heel to the shin. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“It’s not polite to stare.”

“It’s not polite to wave epic tits in my face, if you don’t want me to stare.”

“Really, Gojyo?”

“Yeah, really.” Gojyo shrugged, gave Hakkai a kiss, grabbed Goku’s arm and bounded towards the yacht in question. “Ahoy there! Can you put something on? My boyfriend is a jealous bitch.

“Certainly. I always listen to reason.” Kanzeon laughed but accepted a towel someone passed her from the inside of the boat. “There’s four of you?”

“Yeah. Sanzo didn’t meantion this?”

“He said ‘we’, I assumed he meant himself and Hakkai, with whom I am acquainted, if only telephonically.” The blinding white of her teeth shone in the darkness of the night, rivalling the fluffy towel she had wrapped about her midsection.

“Is it gonna be a problem?” Goku asked, clutching Dug’s harness in both hands. The dog nuzzled his palm in response.

“Goodness, no. Dear boy, any friend of my nephew’s is a friend of mine. To tell you the truth I was shocked by the notion Sanzo has this many friends.”

“Oh.” Goku turned his enormous, freaky eyes in Sanzo’s direction and smiled, bright enough to rival the missing sun. “Yeah, he’s not very nice.”

“All the more reason to cherish you.” Kanzeon grinned and Goku smiled at her in return. “What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of you.”

“’s Goku.”

“As adorable as you are. But we are wasting time. Come one in. There’s space aplenty.”

Gojyo immediately hopped onto the boat, then reached for Dug. Goku patted the mutt and then hoisted him up over the railings.

“Jesus! What do you feed the mutt, rocks?”

“Dug is not fat!”

“Then why does he weigh a ton?”

“Maybe you’re just puny.”

“Maybe I am puny? Maybe I will kick your scrawny arse and we’ll see who’s puny!”

“I could kick your arse into next Wednesday.”

“You’d have to catch me first.”

“We should isolate them,” Sanzo said as he stepped onto the yacht, closely followed by Hakkai. “Preferably in padded rooms.”

“I can’t see that ending well. Dug would be very upset.” Hakkai smiled.

Sanzo looked at the dog, who’d found himself a spot in the cockpit and from there kept a watchful eye on Goku’s attempts to get inside without braining himself on the boom. He failed on the last account.

“Ouch! Damn it! That hurt!”

“A huge rod of metal to the brain will do that to you.”

“Stop being a dick, will you?”

“Yes. Play nice, Sanzo. You will be rooming together.”

“What? Hell, no!”

“This is not a hotel, I’m afraid, and spare cabins are limited. Go on in. Jiroushin is almost done.” Kanzeon tilted her head. “Goku dear, is there something wrong?” Goku was feeling around the cockpit. His fingers slid over all smooth surfaces, touched the ropes, the polished edges, until he finally found one edge that did not match.

“Hm? Oh, I can’t see very well. Or at all, actually.”

Dug barked and walked to the entrance, intent on checking out the way. He spent a minute looking down into the yacht, clearly debating the chances of his master getting inside unharmed. Kanzeon watched him with a fond expression. “Well, no worries. We’ll take good care of you here. I imagine you’re all dying for a shower?”

Sanzo’s thoughts ran in the direction of “God, yes!”, but he ended up saying only “Rather.”

“You will have to take turns, I’m afraid. Let’s have the grand tour over with, so that we can leave sooner. Are you done, Jiroushin?”

“Yes. Stop rushing me.”

“Off you go then. Goku, there are three steps, you need to reach far -- steps are tall.”

The tour they were given was express. “The stern cabin is ours, all of it. You boys can have the rear. These are the bathrooms. We have, I think, spare towels. Toilets are manually operated, so pay attention: I will not be cleaning up after you.” She said all this while pointing, then ushered them out and took her time familiarising Goku with the intricacies of the marine utilities.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sanzo asked. This was far from the aunt he knew, the one who watched in barely contained amusement as he tried turning on the stove and burned his eyebrows off when the spilled flour exploded in his face.

“Does something need to have happened?” Kanzeon asked. To Goku she added, “Oh honey, knock on the door when you’re undressed and someone will take your clothes. Everything gets wet and we might get turbulence when we leave the harbour.”

“This is a yacht, not an aeroplane, Kannon,” Jiroushin said in a tone of voice strangely remniscient of Hakkai’s weekly calls. Kanzeon held the nautical terms in no more regard than Sanzo the outdoors.

“Ah, details. Let’s get this show on the road! Shiver me timbers, and death to the ninjas.”

“I’d be careful. Goku apparently is kind of a ninja,” Hakkai said.

“I wish!”

“Oh? Do elaborate.”

“I might have a black belt in karate, but really, I trained for ten years. It’s no big deal.” Goku took a step, stubbed his toe and hissed. Dug, still in the cockpit, barked. “Quiet boy. It’s late.”

“Let him in, he’ll be comfortable under the table.” Kanzeon waved her arm, as she was wont -- the magnanimous gesture of a queen, allowing a subject to partake in her glory – and Dug, with a much more welcoming “Here, boy!” from Goku carefully descended down the steps. A bed was prepared for him straight away, framed on three sides by benches, and further covered by a table.

“Wonderful! Jiroushin, detach the ropes.”

Sanzo felt for Jiroushin, he really did. Though apparently they had been married for a long time. When he was a child it had taken him a while to understand that Jiroushin was, in fact, his first name and that he wasn’t aunt Kanzeon’s butler, despite appearances. Of course, then it turned out that he had been her father’s butler, which only served to complicate matters for the already confused six year old.

“I’ll help,” Hakkai said immediately, leaving Sanzo staring at the interiors. It wasn’t quite the level of cleanliness he would have preferred, but at least it looked safe enough to touch. The bathrooms were clean, though, and the promise of a shower was holding him up right now.

“Have a shower, Sanzo,” Goku said.

Sanzo grunted, but didn’t protest, in case someone changed their minds. He needed to wash up, needed to get the grime of the past two days off his skin. He hadn’t gone two days without a shower in a long, long time.

Getting himself washed in the tiny bathroom was something of a challenge, especially when the boat rocked, and the lights of the marina in the window grew distant. The only bodywash he found was a very posh, fruity shower oil, with a matching shampoo, so he exited the shower feeling like a proper queer.

“Hey, that smells really nice!” Goku said when Sanzo bumped into him in the cockpit.

“Believe me, we all hope so.” Hakkai smiled at Sanzo, ignoring the middle finger raised in his direction.

It was a gorgeous night. The moon was high, and the scant wind did little more than ruffle everybody’s hair. Sanzo took a seat next to Goku, because, even unwashed, the moron was better company than his annoying aunt and even more annoying best friend. Thankfully, everyone was silent for the time being.

Sanzo leaned back in his seat and stared at the stars. He breathed the darkened air and with it the serenity the moon afforded and then, just as he was almost comfortable, the thought that’d been nagging in the back of his head returned full force.

“What did you say?” he spat into the five-minute silence.

“Um, what, who and when?”

“You- you said something about Koumyou.” Sanzo let the words fly at a breakneck speed, uncaring whether the vice-like grip he had on Goku’s arm was hurting him.

“Sanzo, let him go. I know it’s an unusual name, but honestly-” Hakkai started saying, but Goku interrupted.

“Well, yeah. My neuropsychologist is called Koumyou.”

“Or, Goku did know Koumyou.” Hakkai, to Sanzo’s annoyance, exhibited only mild surprise. “What? Goku seemed to have implied he was a patient, and I don’t think there are that many neuropsychologists in London.”

“There’s two,” Goku said. “Koumyou and that other guy, the one with a huge booming voice. He was just visiting, I think, ‘cause I only saw him once.”

“What made you go see a neuropsych, anyway?” Gojyo asked before his head appeared in the door. “Did someone drop you on your head as a child?”

Goku turned towards him, and for once his face was serious, and sad. “I’d gone on the tube one morning, got the back off my head nearly blown off. They told me later they’d pulled five nails outta my skull.”

“Is that why you can’t see?”

“Far as I know.” Goku must have shrugged his sadness off, because his face lit up with a smile soon after. “Koumyou said it’s remarkable, really. I was pretty lucky.”

“Lucky? You get nails to the head, you lose your sight, and you think it’s lucky?” Sanzo had never made a secret out of his glass mostly empty disposition. He didn’t think he should start now.

“There was this woman next to me, I remember she had a very flowery skirt. She got a nail through the back of the brain too, only they wheeled her outta the station in a body bag.” Goku’s hand closed around Sanzo’s and try as he might Sanzo couldn’t bring himself to take it back, not even when his fingers tangled in Goku’s messy hair just over his nape and felt the patches of raised, hairless skin. “I could’ve been paralysed, or some such. Just being blind isn’t so bad.”

“I’d take the wheelchair and my eyes intact any day,” Sanzo said, folding his arms across his chest. “What do you do all day, listen to the radio?”

“I’d go stir-crazy if I couldn’t move. I can’t sit still for more than ‘n hour without falling asleep, and when I could see it was only a little better. I don’t got much of an attention span.”

“You seem to be doing very well,” Jiroushin said.

Goku awarded him his best grin. “Oh yeah, I got used to it. I’m all good now.”

Sanzo let his attention wander after that, onto the subject of Koumyou and how non-disgusting Goku was even sweaty and unwashed, until the word “suicide” sent him crashing back into reality. “What?” he asked so violently that everyone paused to look at him.

“I said, I volunteer at a suicide hotline.” Goku smiled at him. “It’s actually kinda fun.”

“Listening to people who wanna off themselves is your idea of fun? You’ve got more in common with Sanzo than I thought,” Gojyo said.

“It’s not like I’ve got a whole load of career options, right? I’m not really good with office work, and most of those people just wanna talk to someone. ‘s how I first met Homura, funny enough.”

“That smug motherfucker called a suicide hotline?” Sanzo sat up straight. The very notion that Homura had the faintest notion of wanting to end his life was preposterous.

“Aren’t there confidentiality clauses?” Hakkai asked shushing Gojyo’s question of “Who’s Homura?”

“Well, kinda, but it wasn’t like he was hiding or anything.” Goku paused to scratch his head. “I mean, he called first, but he didn’t even think about suicide as a joke; it was really obvious. Plus, first thing he said was ‘Hi, Goku’ and if I wanna go have a coffee.”

“Who is this Homura guy, again?” Gojyo waved his arms up and down.

“The dweeb who threw the vampire shindig. Smug oily bastard. I met him a couple of times.” Sanzo mulled it over. He was certainly crazy enough to call someone via the suicide hotline.

“Homura Taishou?” Kanzeon tapped her mouth with her finger. “I remember him. Now there’s a lad who’s keen on getting his way.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t even tell him to go to hell, ‘cuz he donates a ton of money to the centre, and everyone had to play nice.” Goku paused. “I’m gonna go take the shower now.” He disappeared inside and the spirited conversation went with him.

“You might as well all turn in; we’ll wake one of you in a few hours. We ought to stop at the island for shopping. I assume you have no spare clothes?”

“Sadly, no,” Hakkai said, but Sanzo tuned him out. He descended into the yacht and made himself comfortable in the cabin Jiroushin had prepared for them. How strange was the world, he mused, without much humour. A little too strange, his rational brain insisted. It was probably right, but then Goku exited the shower, smelling of fancy fruit and freshness, and as was typical of Sanzo’s rational brain, it went into hiding.

Goku crawled onto the mattress, comically tiny in the shirt and shorts Jiroushin had provided for him, and snuggled into the clean sheets. “This is a little scary,” he said, running his hands over the low ceiling.

Sanzo grunted something vague. There was just enough light in the cabin for him to see the contrast of Goku’s skin against the white cloth and his luminous eyes, which defied physics by gathering light beams by day, storing them, and using the light at night.

“Sanzo? How did you know Koumyou?”

It had to happen, Sanzo supposed. “He was my lover,” he said simply.

Goku waited a few moments before continuing. “What happened?”

“He died. Cancer.”

“Oh. He was a really great guy. He didn’t say anything about being sick.”

“Go to sleep,” Sanzo said. Goku smiled at him and in a few minutes he was out, but Sanzo lay in the darkness for a couple hours, contemplating the strange shape of the universe and the things that happened therein.

TBC  


* * *

 

The two and a half weeks they spent aboard Heaven turned out to be, surprisingly for some, astonishingly for others, heavenly. They started off with a brief pit stop at one of the island of Trinidad and Tobago, because Kanzeon decided she would have no guest of hers running around in her husband’s clothes.

“I don’t mind,” Jiroushin had said to that. “I haven’t even seen most of my clothes.”

“Nonsense! Look at Goku -- he’s drowning in your shirt!”

“That shirt is news to me.”

“Nonetheless, this is unacceptable.”

“I don’t mind,” Goku said. The sleeves were so long, only his fingertips were visible beneath them, a problem Goku solved by rolling them up to his elbows. The rest of them fared better - they were of similar height and build as Jiroushin, so even if Gojyo found his share of clothes a little too tight, or Sanzo constantly had to pick up his trousers, Hakkai wasn’t complaining.

“I mind,” Sanzo said. “At the very least, I want a belt.”

“I am not surprised in the least. Do you want anything else?” Kanzeon put a pair of sunglasses on her face and checked her reflection in the polished brass of the capstan.

“Something white, with sleeves.” Sanzo glared at the early morning sun, which had already put its mind to irritating his skin. “And sunscreen.”

“Of course. The rest of you?”

“Anything is good,” Goku said. “I really am fine.”

“Sweetie, relax. I promise I will let you make it up to me.”

“Huh. Well, I ain’t much of a cook, but I give good massages.”

“Indeed? Book me in for tomorrow then.” Kanzeon grinned. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

Sanzo narrowly stopped himself from clocking his aunt, for reasons he preferred not to dwell on.

“Oh! Can we get some food for Dug? Some of the dry stuff, if it’s gonna be hot. And a newspaper.”

“Are you an avid reader of local news?” Kanzeon asked, poking Goku’s nose with her manicured finger.

“No, but Dug’s not gonna master the toilet thingy, and I am totally gonna clean up after him, but, you know, I can’t see all that well. So, I am gonna need help.”

“Good point.” Kanzeon made a show out of bringing out her PDA and adding newspapers to her shopping list.

“Pick up Sanzo and crew?” Sanzo asked, looking over her shoulder. “What is this, the world’s shortest diary?”

“Honey, you cannot expect my memoirs to be written entirely from memory. Now, do you boys want to go ashore, or are you hiding out?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sanzo said, just as Goku spouted the opposite sentiment.

“I’d love to look around,” Hakkai said.

“Yeah, cool. Let us know if you get arrested.” Gojyo waved the party off, flopping onto the deck with a sigh. “It’s sweltering.”

“Can it with the big words,” Sanzo said, stretching. “You may get confused and forget to breathe. I’m not giving you CPR.”

“Do I look blond to you?”

“You brain does.”

“Says the man with the Pantene number 305-blond coloured hair.”

“Says the man who knows the Pantene colour scheme.”

“I’m not sure if Pantene make dyes.”

“This is me, caring.”

The curious thing about heated air as a medium was that it tended to slow down speech. Before Sanzo and Gojyo finished the exchange, the better part of an hour had gone by and the shopping party returned, loaded with bags.

“Be a dear, Sanzo, and help us unpack.”

“How long are you planning to sail, for fuck’s sake,” Sanzo groused when a heavy bag threatened to pull him overboard to the bottom of the harbour. “What’s in here, stones?”

“Beer.”

Sanzo shut up. Beer was worth many sacrifices. Unfortunately, in his eagerness to get all the beer onboard, he seemed to have volunteered to unpack everything else as well, which wasn’t nearly as much fun as it might have seemed.

“I hate you,” he remarked more than once through the ordeal, but then Goku, in an effort to cool off, lost his shirt, and Sanzo found his tongue occupied, trying to mop up the excess saliva, flooding his mouth.

“Hot damn, kid, you look fine,” Gojyo said with a whistle.

Goku, predictably, flushed. “I work out.”

“Gojyo, stop staring.”

“Why?”

“Because you are making me very, very uncomfortable.” Hakkai said in a voice that would have been a vicious hiss, save for the lack of the actual hiss. Hakkai’s vocal abilities were one of a kind.

“One; this possessive act? It is not funny. Two; you are wearing your shirt, so clearly I cannot ogle you. Three; you do not look like you’ve been dipped in caramel. So, you know, get stuffed, okay?” It was a rare gem, seeing Gojyo quietly angry. He favoured hand-waving, curse-flinging bouts of fury, which were quick to ignite and even quicker to simmer down. Sanzo found it a little disturbing. So much so, in fact, that he broke his personal rule about not touching Gojyo and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“You might want to chill the fuck out,” he said, in the spirit of peaceful solutions.

“Caramel, huh?” Sanzo turned to find Kanzeon gazing at Goku speculatively. “That’s a thought.”

“Kannon.” Unlike Hakkai, Jiroushin had the science of being committed to a connoisseur of the male form (or, as Sanzo preferred to call it, a total slut) down pat. “We are trying to depart here.”

“True enough. Well, get everything stowed, boys, and let’s get the show on the road.” Kanzeon clapped her hands and Sanzo unexpectedly found himself with an armful of Dug. “You know, Goku,” Kanzeon continued once the white yacht cleared the concrete harbour and the open ocean loomed in the distance, “Whatever routine you have at the gym, it’s super-effective.”

Goku grinned. Kanzeon had seen fit to purchase Bermuda shorts for him, very loud, orange and blue Bermuda shorts, and -- damn -- but Goku looked downright edible in those shorts.

“I was a firefighter before the…” Goku gestured to his head. “Hard to work up a proper gut.”

No kidding there. Gojyo was one hundred percent right in his assessment. Goku looked like he had been, in the recent past, dipped in liquid caramel, head to toe, and the candy had managed to give his skin a fluid, smooth finish, hinting at rather than revealing the musculature beneath. It had to be there, obviously. Someone had pulled Sanzo up that cliff, no matter how bad Sanzo wished to erase the episode from his personal history, not to mention carting the wet parachute through the jungle.

“Firefighter, hm. Are there calendars?” Kanzeon casually whirled the steering wheel to the left. “It’s just that Sanzo’s birthday is coming up.”

“My birthday is in November.”

“It’s never to early to start looking.”

Goku grinned and in the background the island was showing off, displaying the coastline for all it was worth, as though to wave them goodbye. Within two hours Heaven sprang forth into the Atlantic Ocean, leaving behind most of their problems. Even Hakkai decided that he was through being an uptight possessive bitch, and rejoined the rest of them in the cockpit.

There was barely any wind, which was part of the reason Sanzo only remembered that part of the journey, and not the subsequent two weeks. He enjoyed the leisurely journey, even if, according to Kanzeon, the silence was so infuriating. Around four p.m. local time, when land was a distant memory, she killed the engine and declared a pitstop.

“We are in the middle of the ocean,” Sanzo said, without removing the giant straw hat from his face. Kanzeon had provided the hat for the protection of his pasty white skin and he protested vehemently, at first, until it turned out it was either the hat, or not getting out of the stuffy cabin.

“First of all; no, we are not. We’re just fifty miles from Venezuela. Secondly; engines tire me. Thirdly; it is hot. I, for one, would love a swim.”

“In the middle of a fucking ocean?”

“Yes, why not?”

“Can we really?” Goku had the gall to look excited at the prospect, the annoying little monkey.

“I don’t see why not. We are not in a hurry, or anything. A couple of hours won’t hurt.”

“We do have jobs.”

“What? Didn’t you call before you left?”

“Kidnapping, Kannon. Not as pre-emptively warned for as you might think,” Sanzo said.

“Two hours wouldn’t hurt, at this point. We’ve got two weeks of sailing ahead of us.”

“Oh man,” Gojyo said. “Fuck. That spells doom for my job.” Hakkai nodded mutely, his mind clearly elsewhere. “Then again, whatever. Let’s party.” Gojyo hopped inside for beer, which he distributed evenly among the crew.

“So… You weren’t kidding about the swimming?” Goku asked, hugging the chilled can to his chest, leaving little droplets of water all over his skin.

“Absolutely not.” Kanzeon whipped of her semi-transparent shirt, revealing a bikini which had been worse. Sanzo prayed she wouldn’t lose the scarf she had tied around her hips, as he knew for a fact she liked wearing thongs and his brain wasn’t ready for this kind of damage. He could, of course, cover his face with the hat again, but Goku was crawling over him to stand on the port side, in all his half-naked glory.

“Is it deep?”

“About a mile deep, sweetie.”

“Cool,” Goku said and dived over the railings, hitting the water at a perfect right angle.

“Showoff!” Gojyo yelled when the monkey resurfaced, twenty feet away, throwing a cascade of water into the air with a wave of his hand. Goku laughed at that, putting all he had into a very impressive breaststroke.

Gojyo and Kanzeon soon followed his example, though they chose to stay closer to the boat, in case of a sudden hurricane, or perhaps a shark attack. Sanzo refused, point-blank, to have anything to do with the ocean, as should any sensible person who had watched _Jaws_.

Dug, who’d been very docile from the beginning of the journey, suddenly found his master out of his sight, to which his response was to sit up and start barking like a dog possessed.

“What is it boy?” Hakkai asked, patting his head. Dug ignored him. He climbed onto the port side, never taking his eyes off Goku, and kept on barking, until some invisible line was crossed and – without further warning – he leapt, sailing over the railings into the water and paddling towards the monkey.

“Ten quid says it’s a shark,” Gojyo said as he hurriedly climbed out of the water, earning himself a slap upside the head from Hakkai.

“Goku, get back here!” Sanzo yelled.

Dug stopped short of reaching Goku, choosing instead to swim back and forth in front of him, still barking urgently.

“Goku!”

“It’s okay,” Goku yelled. “I think I know this bark.”

“You what this what?”

Instead of replying, Goku turned his back to the yacht and proceeded to wave his arms on the water’s surface, growing bolder as Dug got louder. “Ah,” he yelled at last. “Relax. It’s just a turtle.”

There wasn’t a soul aboard Heaven who didn’t choose that exact moment to yell “What?”

Goku returned to the yacht slowly, pacing his strokes to Dug’s efforts. “It’s cool,” he said, tilting his head up. “Dug hates turtles. He’s peculiar about them.”

“Hates turtles?” Kanzeon asked, stiffling a giggle.

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“He got bit by one when he was a pup.”

“Seriously?” Gojyo hopped to the rear to help hoist Dug onto the yacht. Sanzo averted his eyes when Goku’s appeared over the steering wheel gleaming with water, particularly as the moron followed up with a gleeful shower for himself and his mutt.

Sanzo turned in that night with a very conflicted mind. It wasn’t a huge surprise that Goku was attractive to him -- he wasn’t half as oblivious as people liked to tell him he was. His hormones sent him colour-coded cards, when relevant. No, the conflict stemmed from the fact that he was intensely attracted, physically and otherwise, in a way he’d never experienced before. Even with Koumyou, the physicality had been building up slowly, a result of the process of getting together. It wasn’t until he had a proper crush that the desire had shown its face.

What he was feeling now was most disquieting.

Sanzo turned to the wall when Goku crawled into the bunk, nearly plastering himself to it for fear that casual touching might lead to something lewd.

He fell asleep soon enough, but when he woke up things weren’t quite as simple.

For starters, Sanzo woke up on top of Goku. This was mildly embarrassing. He rolled off, only to discover he was on top of Goku, again, and that Goku was now aware of it.

“Um. I’m all for it, normally, but I’m really hungry right now,” Goku said with a wholly inappropriate grin.

“Something’s very wrong with this place,” Sanzo said. It turned out that the only half-reasonable way to stay off the monkey was to sit up and brace himself on the ceiling. “What the fuck?”

“Hi kids!” Kanzeon yelled though a porthole, which opened into the cockpit. “We’re experiencing some turbulence, anyone not busy puking their guts out is welcome up here. Jackets in the left cabin upfront.”

Sanzo considered his words, acutely aware of the growing sensation of being detached from the world, bodily, and that his stomach was an alien entity bent on total domination. He managed one painfully inadequate swearword, before leaping for the bathroom and losing last night’s supper to the porcelain gods in exile.

“Fuck,” he muttered, when a wave sent him crashing into the toilet wall.

“Sanzo? You okay?” Goku asked. Sanzo could hear the soft drumming of his fingertips against the wood, as he searched for support.

“I’m puking, how okay can I be?”

“Oh. Do you want me to get you anything?”

“New stomach.”

“I’ll make you tea,” Hakkai said, appearing suddenly. Sanzo noted a hand descending on Goku’s shoulder, before the heaves directed his attention to the toilet again.

“I don’t want tea.”

“It’ll do you good. Strong tea and bread.”

“Do I look like I’m hungry?”

Goku’s nose twitched and he clapped a hand around his face. “Sorry, I’m sorry!”

“It’s quite all right. Get yourself dressed and go outside. The fresh air makes it better.” Hakkai smiled and pushed Goku towards his and Sanzo’s cabin, before turning to assist in managing Sanzo’s seasickness. “If it makes you feel any better, Gojyo threw up as soon as he got up too.”

“Yeah, hilarious.”

“Although he seemed to feel better afterwards. How are you now?”

“Nauseous.”

“You should lie down.”

“How long do you expect the storm to last?” Sanzo asked. He was hoping for an immediate answer, something to console his troubled gut, but Hakkai’s silence was not inspiring. “Hakkai. The storm. How long?”

“There’s no storm.”

“Excuse me?”

Kanzeon chose that moment to descend into the cabin, to torment her nephew. “Storm? Sanzo, dear, the weather is beautiful! We’re expecting two weeks of smooth sailing, all the way through.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘beautiful’?”

“Not a cloud in the sky, wind enough to get us to a whopping nine knots and not a dolphin in sight.” Kanzeon grinned, slapping a newly emerging Goku on the shoulder. “I’ll find a jacket for you in a minute. It’s really windy out there.”

Sanzo wasn’t sure if the black spots dancing in front of his eyes were the result of seasickness or shock. He held onto the toilet just in case. The bathroom was barely more than a closet. Even if he were to pass out, he’d likely avoid a concussion, as he’d be slowly sliding to whatever floor there was. “This is beautiful weather?” he asked, when thirty seconds later he was still conscious.

“Wonderful sailing conditions, that’s for sure.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“You look green,” Kanzeon said.

“Fuck you.”

“You should lie down. Here or in the cockpit. Fresh air really makes a difference.”

The next wave damn near took out Sanzo’s legs from underneath him. He was consoled by the fact that everyone else was affected too. Goku stumbled into a door, Kanzeon was holding to the railing by the ladder to begin with and Hakkai narrowly avoided scalding himself with hot water.

“How’s Dug doing?” Goku asked, feeling around for a toothbrush. He found two and handed them both to Sanzo, to decide on ownership.

“He’s out in the cockpit, barfed once, but seems to be okay now.”

“He got sick?” Goku’s expression would move a rock to tears.

“It wasn’t serious. He’s up and wagging, unlike poor Gojyo. I tried feeding him, but he wouldn’t eat.”

“I’ll do it. He’s been trained to only take food from me.” Goku felt his way past Sanzo into the cramped little bathroom, to brush his teeth.

“Here, Sanzo,” Hakkai said handing him a mug. “Be careful with it and lie down.”

“That will help?” For once the vitriol hadn’t been the product of Sanzo’s acerbic wit, but a mouthful of stomach acids.

“Immensely.”

It did. In fact it worked so well, Sanzo spent the whole of the next two weeks on his back, emerging only when the unfortunate circumstances of fucking physiology forced him to empty his bladder. “I hate the sea,” Sanzo told Goku late on the seventh day of the so-called beautiful weather, when they were struggling for a comfortable spot on a slanting bedspace.

“I thought this was the ocean.”

“Do not inflict your minor geographical epiphanies on me. I hate water.”

“It was fun before you started throwing up.” Goku wedged his head underneath Sanzo’s chin, and breathed. “I don’t like seeing you hurting.”

“Good thing you’re blind then.”

“Is that ever gonna get old?” Goku’s fingers dug into Sanzo’s arm, playful and teasing rather than anguished. “Cuz, you know, it’s not my fault.” He waited a moment before continuing. “How old are you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Kinda. I mean it would look really odd if you were old and gross.”

Sanzo considered. Goku’d been forward before age was factored into the equation. “I’m thirty-one.”

Goku burrowed deeper, as though he was trying to stop Sanzo from dislodging him, the reason for which was handed over in the next question. “Koumyou sounded like he was way older.”

“He was my teacher. At university. I majored in psychology. He taught a course in neuropsychology for fun, I suppose.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Psychology! Dunno. I did a course, got a BA in sociology, but it was so boring, and you don’t like bullshit much. I figured you’d think it was totally bogus.”

Sanzo should have been shocked, but wasn’t. Goku was a bit of an airhead, but every now and then he would say something that Sanzo would just choke on. “I did think it was bogus.”

“Why’d you take it then?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time. I met Koumyou when I was in my second year. We started going out, I suppose, around the time I received my degree.”

“So… was he terribly old?”

“He would frown at you for saying he was old,” Sanzo said, remembering with vivid clarity the pout Koumyou used to don whenever someone pointed out his age. “Never mind the ‘terribly’.” Goku’s hair smelled nice, Sanzo thought randomly. “He was sensitive about his age. More so when I was around.”

“I liked seeing him,” Goku said. “He made me feel okay about the whole thing.”

“I never figured him for a miracle worker.” Sanzo focused on the feel of Goku’s hair between his fingers, the way the freshly washed strands slipped through his hold. It was surprisingly mesmerising. “Though… I was a very unpleasant kid,” he whispered, “And I knew it. Koumyou was interesting, new.”

“Am I new and interesting?”

“A blind monkey? You bet that’s a novelty.”

Goku considered. “What’s that mean?”

“Beats me.” The monkey took this as some sort of a conversation killer, because not ten minutes later he was snoring into Sanzo’s collarbone, leaving Sanzo to his musings. A novelty. Yes, he most certainly was that. For Sanzo the world was old and anything worth noticing was just that: a shiny, new bauble, for the spoilt, rich kid to enjoy.

He felt Goku’s chest expand with each breath under his hand and had to smile. Goku was anything but a bauble.

TBC  


* * *

 

Sanzo nursed his seasickness for the remainder of the voyage, through the brief storm, and through the second breather, during which they paused for another bath in the ocean. He hated every minute of it, save for the evenings, when Goku crawled over him and the slant of the cabin would force them to spend the night wrapped around one another. Sanzo waited for those moments, even if the persistent nausea meant he could do no more about it that maybe pet Goku’s hair.

Thus he was overjoyed when, close to the cost of Africa, the wind died down, flattening the ocean enough for him to venture into the cockpit and fresh air. “I fucking hate sailing,” he said, falling into a seat. The gentle wave they were riding lifted his breakfast high up his throat, but not so high he needed to part with it.

“Seriously, what gives? You fly on a regular basis.” Gojyo threw the last of some colourful rope into a bag by the entrance to the cabin and turned to Sanzo.

“I have no idea. Don’t want to know. Don’t want to find out.” Sanzo crossed his arms and stared off into space. “How come you are fine? I heard you were puking your guts out, too?”

“Yeah, puked, got up here, helped with the odd pull, puked again, lather, rinse, repeat.”

“I hate you.” Sanzo had tried, he honestly had made the effort to get out into the fresh air, once or twice. Ended up flat on his back on the bottom of the cockpit, holding onto his stomach with both hands.

“Duly noted. No more sea voyages for you.” Kanzeon, steering again, grinned at her nephew. “So, kids, how do you feel about Morocco?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It doesn’t, since that’s where we’re going.”

“We need to get back home.”

“It will be another week.”

Sanzo saw black spots dance in front of his eyes. “We’re getting out now,” he said, and only the surrounding water stopped him from making good on the declaration.

“Why Morocco though?” Hakkai asked, handing Goku a bun slathered in jam. Goku, the idiotic monkey, accepted the treat with much more enthusiasm than the bun deserved.

“I want a fez.” Kanzeon flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder, shooting Jiroushin a smouldering glance. “See, there’s a Great Book of Sexy Roleplay, and…”

“Oh fuck. Kill me now! I don’t want to know!”

And so a fez was the reason why, seventeen days after they left Venezuela, Sanzo’s party called at a port in Morocco. “I will never unsee this,” Sanzo said, when Kanzeon waved them goodbye with the fez on her head.

“Dunno. I think it’s cute.” Goku scratched Dug’s ears, increasing his loyalty tenfold. Sanzo could see the little hearts light up in the mutt’s eyes.

“That’s because you won’t need bleach to get the images out of your head.”

“Once more, for the fiftieth time – Sanzo, get laid. If not, stop yelling at people who do.” Gojyo stretched. “Your aunt is awesome.”

“You can have her.”

“You think she’s up for adopting me?”

“Anything to get her off my back.”

“Please, where else are you gonna find a woman who drops everything to cart your skinny arse across the Atlantic?”

Fair point, even if Sanzo wasn’t sure if it was worth the therapy his brain would need after all the barfing and Kanzeon’s ebullient sexuality. The solid ground beneath his feet helped some, and if he was lucky, alcohol would soon obliterate the rest. “Let’s go for a drink,” he suggested.

“Right now? Don’t we have some sort of priorities?” Gojyo asked, though he perked up visibly at the mention of a drink.

“We do. Drink, then everything else.”

They were standing in front of a wall of… Sanzo was hard-pressed to describe it. They weren’t so much buildings as constructions: stalls, filled with everything under the sun and a million people per square inch, but there was more than that. All the people, all the spices and perfume reached out from the stalls to create a cloud of scent that sprawled from whatever caused it in the first place, to encompass all the available space.

“Oh dear,” Hakkai said.

“What now?”

“Look there.” Hakkai ducked his head, and over his shoulder Sanzo saw several very familiar uniforms, urgently marching through the streets.

“Oh fuck.” He wasn’t thinking straight, which was likely what prompted the dive into the market, into the mess of people and stench so thick he could surf in it. Goku grasped his arm and Dug’s well-meaning attempts to trip them both were a comfort in their own right.

Less than three minutes later he knew he’d made a mistake.

“Where now?” Gojyo hissed, when the vendor Sanzo could have sworn they’d seen three times that day tried to sell them something illegal.

“Fuck if I know.”

“I’m hungry,” Goku said mournfully. Dug sneezed.

Now that they were in it, the crowd had closed behind them, cutting off all escape routes, save for airlift, and that was unlikely. Sanzo felt the clutches of his paranoia sink into his ribs, crushing the breath out of his lungs. There was no way out; whichever way they would go, the masses of people would throw them off course and, if they were lucky, spit them out heaven’s knew where after only a casual chew.

“Let’s just move forward. It has to end somewhere.” Hakkai said, even if he didn’t sound like he fully believed it. They pressed on, regardless.

“That has to end well,” Gojyo said when Dug had another sneezing fit in response to a collection of herbs some vendor was trying to sell them really cheap.

“Are we doomed yet?” Sanzo asked, running a hand through his sweaty, disgusting hair. He needed out. He needed out of the fucking market, away from the people, away from everything. His head was on fire.

Then, as though being lost in a strange Moroccan market wasn’t enough, something chimed and Goku got assaulted by a vision in pink gauze and bells. “Goku!” she called and then Goku was being thoroughly kissed and Sanzo felt his head explode into a fiery ball of debris.

“What are you doing here!”

“Me? What are you doing here? I thought you were in Egypt!”

“At least I’m on the right continent. You were supposed to be back home!”

Dug barked and all the pink gauze dropped to his level. “Dug! Who’s a good boy!”

“What the fuck?” Sanzo asked gripping Goku’s arm.

“Um, this is Pippi. She’s my best friend.”

“And ex-girlfriend.” Pippi stood up, gave Sanzo a bright and cheery grin he would gleefully murder her for and held out her hand for a shake. “The kissing bit, not totally out of nowhere.”

Gojyo grinned, grasping her hand in Sanzo’s stead. “You are way too hot for the little dork,” he said. “What’s with the bells?”

“I work as a harem girl.”

“That doesn’t seem entirely legit,” Hakkai said, prompting Gojyo to shoot Hakkai a long look, but Pippi laughed.

“We organise camel trips through the desert, with a visit in an oasis and belly dancing shows.” She linked her arm through Goku’s and jiggled her hips so that the bells adorning them jingled. “It’s heaps of fun for all involved.”

“Camels,” Hakkai said and Sanzo felt panic. “Do you cross the desert? Where do you go?”

“Depends, there’s a couple of set trails, but we’re flexible.” Pippi scratched the back of her head. “Hard for me to say. I’m actually only starting out. Met with Kougaji in Egypt. You remember Kou, Goku? His parents own some -- bugger if I know -- but he’s got a bunch of camels for the summer and so the business is on.”

“Are you free now?” Hakkai asked.

“Well, we’re getting ready. Our first trip ain’t for another week, or so.”

“Excellent. Can you make decisions?”

“No, I’m just a dancer.” Pippi tilted her head so far the bells she was wearing as earrings touched Goku’s shoulder. “But Kou ought to be free about now. Wanna meet him?”

“We certainly do.” Hakkai smiled and Sanzo grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m thinking it’s an excellent way to cross the desert, undetected.”

“They found us after a sea voyage.”

“Yachts are registered, so are cross-Atlantic trips. Security alone demands that we let someone know where we are on the sea, at all times. Camels aren’t subject to registration, as far as I know.”

“You want to cross a desert on a camel.”

“Hopefully more than one.”

“Is there anything I can say that will convince you it is a bad idea?”

Hakkai pondered. “No, I don’t think so. Is anyone against?”

Gojyo shook his heads. “Hell, my job is toast anyway, might as well have fun. I’m in. How about you, squirt?”

“I’ll figure it out. No big deal.” Goku turned his head enough so that Sanzo could see him smile. “Come on, Sanzo! It will be fun!”

“What do you know?” Sanzo muttered, but then Pippi was pulling Goku toward a group of kids standing by a stall, and evidently he got no voice, so he shut up.

“Hey Kou!” Pippi said. “You remember Goku?”

“Sure, yeah. Hey. Sorry about your eyes. Damn bad luck.” Kougaji was a rather solemn man, barely past his mid-twenties. His face was fairly dark, more so in a beige jellabiya. “Pippi talks about you a lot.”

“She talked about you a lot,” Goku said, shaking Kougaji’s hand. “What’s with the camels? I thought you were studying to be a doctor?”

“Final year starting in the fall. Figured I need a vacation. This is my sister, Lirin. Over there are Doku and Yaone.” Lirin and Yaone, unlike Pippi, boasted racks fit for keeping transatlantic ships afloat, though like Pippi they were dressed in gauze and bells.

“Wonderful. Pleased to meet you all.” Hakkai stepped up to the plate and Sanzo groaned internally. “Now, I hear you have a travel business and that you are free at the moment?”

Kougaji blinked. “Yes, we organise camel trips through the desert. With a show.”

“Splendid. We need to cross the desert, to get to an airport.”

“Airport.” Kougaji considered. “Closest one would be Mogador or Marrakech -- which would be easier to get to, I think. We usually end up there.”

“Even better. Do you sell tickets?”

“How many people are we talking?”

Gojyo grinned and albowed Hakkai aside. “There’s four of us -- me, the creepy dude in the glasses, the cripple, and you know Goku – he’s the guy with the dog.” That got him a series of long looks, or, in the case of Goku, a pointed sightless gaze. “What?”

“Are you a moron, or are you a moron?” Sanzo asked, crossing his arms.

“No offence man, but you can’t argue with me here. You are totally disabled. Goku merely goes round doing stuff by touch.”

“Right,” Kougaji asked. “We need at least twice that. We’re set for ten, that adds up to about four hundred twenty dollars a person. We’d get you on a discount, but even with that…”

“Make it five thousand, for the four of us,” Sanzo said, “but I want out of here now.”

Kougaji opened his mouth and forgot to close it for a minute. He wasn’t the only one.

“You are, without a doubt, the single most boring human in existence,” Gojyo told Sanzo, once he collected his jaw from the floor.

“Yes, do share, because your opinion matters.”

“You’re throwing dough around like it’s nothing and you spend your time holed up in a bleach commercial set. That’s sick, man.”

Sanzo shrugged. The constant presence of wordless witnesses, all the masses who travelled to and fro constantly, brushing against him even by accident, they were making him ill. He would gladly pay ten thousand just to get out of the market. Hell, he’d get a mortgage to do it. “It’s just money.”

“Five grand is not just money.”

“No, it’s spinach. What the fuck else is it?”

“It’s hard work!”

“When you work for a living, probably.” Monetary issues were never more than an afterthought for Sanzo. “Making money is easy.” If his sources were reliable, working for a living was hard. Making money when you already had money, on the other hand, that was a piece of cake. Five grand may not have been peanuts, but it was far from a worrying sum. Kanzeon could merrily spend as much on a shopping spree when she went to update her wardrobe, and Sanzo didn’t fare any worse than she did.

“Okay,” Kougaji said, a little stunned by the turn of events. “If you’re sure, no problem. We can leave tonight.”

“The sooner the better. You want cash or credit?”

“Credit is fine. All right then,” he said, turning to his crew. “Vacation’s over, Yaone, you organise pit stops. Doku, see that the camels are stocked to go. We’re going to Marrakech -- that’s gonna be a hundred miles.”

“Will do, boss.”

“Wow,” Pippi said, still holding on to Goku’s arm. “You managed to hook up with some very interesting people while I was gone.”

“You have no idea.”

“How did you get here, anyway?”

“We were all kidnapped, run to the jungle, parachuted in and then were locked up in a party. We got here from Venezuela on a yacht,” Goku said, smiling brightly.

“Right…” Pippi turned to face the others. “Well, anyway, nice to meet you all! I’m Pippi. Sorry, didn’t catch your names.”

“That’s Hakkai. He’s nice but scary. Gojyo is mostly loud and Sanzo is that creep who lives by the park -- you know the one.”

“No way! You’re the famous boogie-man?” Pippi’s eyes shone as she stepped towards Sanzo. “The stories people tell about you! I thought you were old and cranky though, not… this.” Her appreciative glance travelled up and down, and Sanzo considered a sucker punch.

“I don’t want to know,” Sanzo said curtly. “Let’s go.”

Kougaji was as good as his word, and within the hour they were herded into a minibus and driven to the outskirts of town, where a pack of camels was waiting for them. “We’ve got a mini-office with a connection a little way off. We’ll stay the night there, if that’s okay with you?”

“Whatever.” Sanzo eyed his camel with apprehension. The fucking creature was enormous, and it was looking at him in a way that was anything but friendly. “You better behave, or else,” Sanzo told it when Doku got it to kneel. Even then the saddle was so high Sanzo could barely see over it. “I’m having doubts.”

“What about Dug?” Goku asked, interrupting Pippi’s lecture about riding these monsters. “He can’t run. It’s too hot.”

“I got a basket for the dog,” Doku said. He pulled a giant construction out of the minibus and presented it proudly. “We once carried a two year old in one of these so a dog’ll be just fine. Plus, we got spare camels, so he’s gonna be travelling like a king.”

“Hear that, Dug? You’re gonna get pampered.” Goku waited at the camel’s side as Doku fitted the basket with blankets and propped the cover so that the air could get out. Sanzo didn’t get to watch him get in, because it was time to saddle up and his camel was giving him the stink-eye again.

“Here, put this on.” Kougaji handed him a very long shirt, a scarf and a headband. “The sun is murder out in the desert.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Sanzo struggled with the headgear, feeling so pathetic that eventually he had to let Kougaji do the job.

“Don’t worry about it. Have you ever ridden a camel?”

“Do I look like I’ve ever ridden a camel?”

“Guess not. Alright, it’s not that hard. Camels tend to rock when they walk, so you need to go with it. Just let Abu move you, and you’re set.”

Sanzo didn’t think it was going to be that hard, not when he was still standing far enough that he could imagine camels were horses with humps. When he was sitting on one, when it got up, he found himself a mile off the ground, sitting on a glorified armrest. “I,” he said to Hakkai, who was just working out the rocking problem, “am going to kill you.”

“Yes, Sanzo, I’ll make a note. How’s next Thursday for you?”

Of course it turned out the blind guy was rocking out the camel ride. Naturally. Sanzo’s life was just that horribly, horribly bad, so poorly planned and managed that even legal cripples managed to handle themselves with more ease around the stumbling blocks the universe saw fit to chuck Sanzo’s way.

He felt marginally better when they moved outside civilisation’s reach. The sands were quiet then, save for the grunting of the animals, and the desert was magnificent. Sanzo breathed freely, away from the suffocating presence of human masses. The presence of camels, while equally potent, wasn’t quite as bad.

Sanzo found something of a rhythm in Abu’s lazy attempts to throw him off its back, enough to bring back the memory of the sea voyage and with it the nausea. This time his stomach decided to be strong, and so he managed the long ride to camp in relative peace, holding on to his belly with both hands.

“We’re very close!” Kougaji called from the front of the caravan just as the sun touched the horizon. “Only a mile left to go.”

Sanzo started and very nearly fell off his camel in surprise.

The setting sun illuminated an oasis, which looked like it was imported straight from the set of the _Lion King_. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Nope,” Lirin called from behind Sanzo. “It’s really here.”

Within the circle of palm trees there was a circle of tents, in the middle a fire and further on, which they only got to see after getting off the camels, almost completely covered by sand, an office with two computers and a fully functional kitchen.

“Toilets are behind the office. A little rough, but it’s all part of the experience. You can have your pick of the tents; most are unoccupied,” Doku said. “There’s two beds per tent, so you can stay together or spread out. Anything is cool.”

“Most are unoccupied?”

“Me and Kou share one, the girls another, and there’s a bunch of guys that camp here all the time. They’re out fetching fuel for the fire and additional stuff. No idea if they’ll be back tonight.”

“You left all that in the middle of the desert?” Gojyo asked, opening the flap to a random tent, confirming its emptiness and chucking his bag onto one of the beds. “What if someone comes?”

“It’s the desert. We lock up the office and cover it up, but the odds of someone random dropping in are remote, at best.” Doku grinned. “You better grab some zees now. We gonna get a fire going, get some grub done, and the nights are pretty damn spectacular.”

Gojyo raised a hand. “Do we got beer?”

“Gojyo!”

“What? A legitimate question!”

“I don’t drink, but we’ve got plenty of alcohol, so no problem.” Doku grinned. “We are set up for tourists, after all.”

“I love tourism,” Gojyo said, grinning widely. Sanzo rolled his eyes. You just couldn’t take the moron anywhere without landing face first in a huge faux pas.

Thankfully, the monkey was faring better. Dug managed to survive the trip okay, and was now making use of the space, running around like a dog possessed, leaping over anything that presented an obstacle with glee. Sanzo supposed being cooped up on a boat for weeks on end and then being shoved into a basket couldn’t have been much of be a vacation for a dog who worked out every morning.

Dug seemed to sense he was being thought about, because all of sudden he appeared before Sanzo and leapt up, so that they could have a face-to-face. “What?” Sanzo asked. “I hope you are not asking me to walk you, because I can see you’ve already got that covered.”

Dug woofed and licked his face, then resumed his health run.

“Wow, he must really like you,” Pippi said, tearing herself momentarily from Goku’s side and coming over. “He’s never this friendly.”

Sanzo gritted his teeth, but before he could seriously hurt her in reply, a host of curved swords rose up from the desert and pointed in their direction.

TBC  


* * *

 

“That’s it!” Sanzo yelled, when the men behind the swords advanced. “Somebody hand me a bazooka!”

“We’re fresh out,” Doku said. “I do have some kitchen spikes though.”

One of the mysterious assailants perked up, a most disquieting sight when a curved sword was in the picture. “Oh? Does that mean we get shish kebabs?”

“If you brought your own supplies. We’ve nowhere near enough food to feed you lot.”

“Sure, have no fear, we’ve got plenty.” The leader of the gang pulled her hood off. “We’re camping here, girls!”

Dark, coarse fabric fluttered to the ground and Sanzo boggled at the multitude of ample bosoms that suddenly appeared from beneath desert wear. Pippi was jingly and she was pink, Lirin and Yaone were busty, but these girls could give them all a run for their money. “What. The. Everloving. Fuck?” he asked.

“Hi! We’re a harem-slash-desert bandits for hire. Belly-dancing school, what have you. We do shows at weddings, birthdays and the occasional bachelor party.” The leader pulled out a card from her sparkling bra and handed it to Sanzo, who, in stupefaction, took it.

“Harem slash desert bandits?”

“The economy has been tough on us all. We needed to branch out.”

“Hey Sanzo, you wouldn’t lie to me, right?” Gojyo asked into Sanzo’s ear.

“Depends.”

“Did we die?”

“Possibly. I seem to be in hell.”

“Oh. Do you think it’s safe to stare?”

“If we’re in hell, Hakkai’s in command.”

“Fair point. Guess it’s an early night for me.” Gojyo sighed and looked at the abundance of scantily clad girls. “Damn.”

It was about that time the squealing started. Sanzo and Gojyo turned, alarmed, then continued each in his own way -- Gojyo into relaxation, Sanzo into fury. There was a crowd of young, nubile women surrounding Goku and Dug, petting the mutt and – this drove Sanzo to a murderous rage -- petting the monkey with equal abandon.

Goku smiled at them and shook hands, but his eyes constantly travelled, as though he was looking for someone amidst the people surrounding him, and with every moment he seemed more uncomfortable and unhappy. Sanzo swallowed. He had an inkling of what was going through Goku’s head, because he had that every moment of every day, whenever he had to spend time with strange people.

Sanzo tried to imagine meeting a few dozen people whom he couldn’t see and who constantly tried to touch him, and tried not to panic at the thought. He strode through the middle of the camp, straight into the cloud of gauze that enveloped the girls and pulled Goku out of their vile clutches. Thankfully his brain was stable enough not to do anything monumentally stupid, like hugging in full view, but his hand closed around Goku’s bicep pretty tightly, as he shoved him without much care into the nearest tent.

“The fuck is wrong with girls, anyway?” he groused, when the pouting and the giggling outside quieted enough for him to assume they had moved on. A peek outside revealed Pippi was herding them back to the carpets on which Dug was sprawled. “They’re insane.”

“They are very nice.” Goku rubbed his shoulder, trying to sound convincing. “They are nice. I just -- it scares me, a little,” he whispered. “There’s too many of them, and I can’t see and it’s just too much sometimes.”

“How the fuck did you stand one of those long enough to be friends with one?”

Goku blinked. “Those?”

“Women,” Sanzo spat.

“Oh, Pippi? She’s really nice and it’s not like I’m scared of people. I like people.”

“So what’s with the panic attack you just had? You can’t tell me all the pink is comfortable. Even I can tell it’s wrong and I’m as queer as a fifty-five pound note, according to Gojyo.”

“It wasn’t a panic attack! And how was I supposed to know about the pink? It ain’t giving sound signals.”

“You’re just gonna have to trust me on this. They are all pink. So’s your girlfriend, by the way.” Sanzo stared at the floor, at the carpets and the sand. Seemed pointless to stand there and just wonder if Goku fancied dicks, so he asked.

Goku giggled. “Dunno. Never thought of it, really.”

“Never thought of it?”

“I like you. Ain’t that answer enough?” Goku said with such a load of brutal honesty that Sanzo could do no more than throw the flap of the tent aside and stride out. He made it all the way around the buzzing fire, and hid himself in the shadow of the tents on the other side before turning and watching Goku emerge, taking slow, measured steps and feeling his way along the fabric.

Pippi was at his side in seconds, joined by Dug, who had to jump over a few harem girls to get there. “Are you okay?” Sanzo assumed she asked, because Goku smiled and turned to the fire and the women who all looked at him.

“Hey, sorry to run out on you. Crowds scare me.”

As one, the pink posse cooed. “Aww, come here, honey. We’ll hug it better.”

Sanzo expected, or perhaps wanted, Goku to decline and run, but he just smiled and let his two helpers sit him down by the fire, among the harem. Sanzo looked away then, eager to leave the camp for a smoke.

“So, how’s your gay agenda?” Someone asked, accompanied by the peal of many small bells.

Sanzo turned, not quite sure what he was hearing. “The fuck?”

“What, ‘excuse me’ is out of fashion in your circles?”

“What do you want?”

“I’m thinking you and I need to have a wee talk,” Pippi said, grasping his arm. Sanzo struggled, but since she was pulling him away from the camp, he figured it was for the best. Besides, her nails were digging into his skin and any attempt to free himself would include torn meat.

“I see you’ve got the hots for Goku,” she said, once the camp noises were just a minor distraction in the distance.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“That ain’t gonna be easy, I can tell. So, how about this: I know karate, punk, and I could kick your puny arse into next week, then back here and then out into the future again. I would, too, so don’t provoke me.”

Sanzo straightened up and glared at the chit of a girl, barely tall enough to stare him in the eye without a major neck-cramp, the girl who was wrapped in pink gauze and jiggling bells -- and she dared to utter threats! “Do you know who I am?” he snarled.

“You could be the emperor of China for all I care, so screw you. I ain’t scared of you. Goku isn’t scared of you, either, and he likes you, so here’s me, talking.”

Sanzo smirked. “You’re going to give me the Don’t Hurt Him speech? You?”

“I love Goku,” Pippi said and Sanzo wondered how easy would it be to dispose of a body in the desert. “We were best friends before we were a couple, and we are best friends now, so here’s the thing: Goku is twelve.”

Sanzo blinked. “What?”

“He’s an absolute retard. His grasp on the real world is tenuous, at best. He’s got no concept of financial planning, the only reason he’s not up to his ears in debt is that his needs come down to food, and his tastes aren’t very refined. He’s book-dumb, he’s naïve and the most he knows about strange people is not to take the candy they offer, and even that depends. He is twelve years old and he needs someone to look out for him.”

“He’s an adult, and I’m not his nanny.”

“No, of course not. I’m just saying this now, so you aren’t surprised later.” Pippi sighed. “Look, he’s an awesome guy. Really. But he’s dumb as bricks when it comes to people, and if he likes you -- which he does -- he’s gonna listen to you. For the record, I’m reserving judgement until I get to know you better.”

“I have no intention of getting to know _you_ better.”

“I don’t care what you think.” Pippi grinned brightly and only the memory of Goku’s ability to dispatch a couple of soldiers without the aid of sight stopped Sanzo from hitting her. Smug little bitch she was, no question about that, but if she was half as well trained as Goku, the risk was high. “Goku is a sweet kid,” she went on, “and I have every intention of keeping my eyes on you.”

“If he’s so fabulous, why did you break up?”

Pippi sighed, again. “Because of the accident, I guess.”

“That’s obnoxious.”

“I know, right?”

“And he’s still so happy to see you? He _is_ dumb as bricks.”

“Okay, first of all: he was the one who broke it off, not me. I wanted to stay. Hell, right now, if we got to talking, we could probably get back together.”

Sanzo considered homicide one more time.

“That’s not gonna happen,” Pippi said and Sanzo relaxed, until her next words. “But he is my best friend. So, you hurt him, I will hurt you.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try.”

Pippi grinned and her grin turned feral. “Let me tell you, Goku may kick my butt on the training mat, ‘cause he is good, but I am a black belt too and I will want to hurt you, and that I can do miles better than him. I’ll scratch your eyes out to start with and then I will get creative. Are we clear?”

“Screw you and your kind advice!”

“Screw you and your attitude!”

“Go to hell!”

“Likewise!”

Pippi floated off on her pink cloud, looking very satisfied with herself, and Sanzo, thoroughly disturbed, plopped down on the dune, to have a quiet smoke away from the messiness of interpersonal relationships. “Stupid little bitch,” he said out loud, “as if she could tell me what to do.”

He fished out a cigarette from his mangled pack. Now he was starting to remember why he never got involved. People were filthy, annoying creatures, with friends and family, and annoying, bitchy ex-girlfriends – it was probably a huge mistake to get involved with someone who swung both ways, anyway. Only drama lay that way. It would probably be best to just fuck the kid and be done with the whole thing before it even started properly.

Which, of course, it already had, and that was the crux of the problem. Sanzo pressed the heel of his palm into his face, so hard he felt every tiny sting of stubble. He liked Goku already. Hakkai and Gojyo liked Goku. Worse, they liked the idea of him and Goku. He was doomed on that front.

Sanzo heard his name, and then something hit his back and fell on top of him, triggering an avalanche of sand, which he rode all the way to the bottom of the dune. “Fucking Gandhi on a beanpole!”

“What?” Goku giggled and then laughed, then gradually fell silent. Sanzo picked himself up to a sitting position, discarding the stub his cigarette had become.

“How the hell did you get here, without your helpers?”

“Pippi pointed and then I smelled smoke.”

“Good for you.”

Goku crawled over to him, and took a seat at Sanzo’s side. “So, why are you sitting here? They have food. Good food!”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should eat.”

“Why did you break up with her?”

Goku didn’t seem surprised by the question. He picked at the edge of his shorts, staring at nothing in particular. “Dunno,” he said at last. “I liked being with her.”

Sanzo waited.

“I guess… I guess it was weird to have her mother me. It was annoying to start with, but then once she’d gone to the store, and I went and had a shower and shaved, and when she got back there was a lot of yelling.” Goku smiled at the sky. “So, I told her to take a hike. Pretty much. We planned on taking a year off and travelling at some point, and then the accident happened, and we couldn’t, so that’s where she went.”

Sanzo snorted. “You aren’t much for coherent speech.”

“I know. She’s my best friend.” Goku turned to Sanzo, as though he was willing him to understand. “She looks out for me, ‘cuz I’m a bit of a mess, but it was too weird when I couldn’t see.” He fell silent. “Can I?” he asked all of sudden and Sanzo blinked, only getting it when he saw Goku’s hand inch towards his face.

“Whatever,” he said and breathlessly waited for Goku’s fingers to make contact.

The first touch landed on Sanzo’s hair, smoothing the strands and sliding onto his forehead. Goku traced the ridges of Sanzo’s brows, brushing the pads of his fingers against his eyelids before finding his cheekbones. Sanzo forgot how to breathe when Goku’s questing fingers moved from the tip of his nose his lips, getting slowed by the stubble there and then lower to his chin, and back up his jaw.

Goku rose onto his knees and moved closer, eclipsing the magnificent night sky. The first touch of his lips was hesitant, tender, and thoroughly misplaced. Sanzo snorted into Goku’s collar, out of nervousness and surprise, but then Goku’s mouth trailed lower and the kiss landed on its proper mark.

There were stars overhead, brighter and bolder than Sanzo had ever seen them, more beautiful than what TV had promised them to be. The faint light that the fire cast was no match for the expanse of darkness that domed the desert.

They broke apart, breathing heavily. Sanzo found his hand had migrated underneath Goku’s shirt, rubbing tiny circles into the smooth skin there.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Goku asked, making himself comfortable in Sanzo’s lap, “Or are we gonna do the guy thing?”

“Not talking is fine with me.” Sanzo let his back give out and lay down on the sand, already planning a thorough wash when they went back to camp. Goku’s head was heavy on his chest, but he welcomed the weight.

“There’s gonna be sex, though? ‘cause I really like sex.”

“What happened to not talking about it?”

“I just wanted to make sure. You like Dug, don’t you?”

“I don’t mind the mutt, if he’s clean.” Sanzo considered the Big Dipper. “There will be sex.” Eventually. Perhaps. Maybe. Possibly. He liked the thought of having sex with Goku. It brought warmth to his belly and a host of filthy images into his brain.

“That’s good.” Goku snuffled into Sanzo’s shirt and wiggled. “And I like going to the movies.”

“What for?”

“The sounds.”

“Isn’t that boring?”

“Better than sitting alone. I hate being alone.” Goku’s voice sounded so strange as he made the admission. It gained a tone that Sanzo had difficulty placing until he remembered his own voice when he shared his various acerbic insights.

“Shut up,” he said when the realisation hit.

There was the slight pressure of fingers in the opening of his shirt. “I will pay you back for this,” Goku said. “Not right away, but I will.”

“Don’t.”

“It wouldn’t be right.”

“What wouldn’t? I’ve got tons of money that I never use. I wouldn’t leave you all pathetic in the market. You’d get lost and dead in ten minutes. You’re also not important enough, so this must be about me. In any case. It’s no big deal.”

Goku swallowed the slight easily. “I don’t wanna look like I only like you because you’ve got money.”

“If you were into money, you’d be fucking Homura.”

“Is he rich?”

“Immensely.”

“That means a lot?”

“Next Christmas you are getting a dictionary.”

“I can’t read.”

“They must have dictionaries in Braille.”

“I can’t read Braille.”

“Why, aren’t you blind?”

“I never got round to learning. I don’t do well with sitting still, so I buy audiobooks.”

“That’s got to be useful.”

“How do you know Homura, anyway?”

Sanzo sighed. “A while back I used to go to all the important parties. He’s from a rich family, he’s got a motherload of connections and he is the head of a hundred charities, so naturally he smarms up to everyone who comes from money.”

“I don’t have any.”

“ _You_ he wants to fuck. You’re his type.”

“Oh. Do you think he’ll back off now?” Goku asked and though Sanzo had an angry tirade ready, about how was now any different from all those other times, and what exactly was Goku trying to imply by the question, and so on, he couldn’t bring himself to voice it.

“I’ll kill him otherwise,” he said simply. He felt Goku grin against his chest, then move, until they were kissing again. Sanzo wished they could stay there all night, in the sand, trading lazy kisses until the dawn. He was comfortable there, in the dust, surrounded by nothing whatsoever but billions of very tiny pieces of rock and darkness.

Of course, the monkey had to ruin it. “I’m hungry,” he said sitting up.

“Then go eat. What do I care.”

“You should eat, too.”

“Why? I’m not hungry.”

“Yes, you are.”

“And you know this, how?”

“’cuz we haven’t eaten much today, so you’ve gotta be.”

“Not everyone is a bottomless pit of a monkey.”

“I’m not a monkey!”

“Yes, you are.”

Despite the insults, they managed to pick themselves off the sand and, after a perfunctory dust-off headed back towards the camp. Sanzo’s hand was tightly wrapped around Goku’s and, however much he would protest that it was for the cripple’s comfort, it was really for his, and no one else’s. Public displays of anything were never his mode of operation, so when the circle of light from the fire drew near, he moved his hand away and let Goku grasp his shoulder instead.

They walked into the ring around the fire to find that most of the meal had passed them by, but Goku needed only to pout for an additional heap of food to appear out of thin air in front of him.

“Thank you!” He dug into the mound with gusto, offering up bits to Sanzo, who took them without thinking about it.

“So, how did it go?” Gojyo asked, sliding closer to Sanzo and grinning an infuriating grin.

“How did what go?”

“Did you shag? Please tell me you did.”

“How is that any of your business?”

“How is it not any of my business? I have to put up with you! Your sex life is therefore of paramount importance to me.”

“Stick your face into fresh concrete” Sanzo suggested, than returned to his food. Every now and then he would cast a furtive look at Goku, who was stuffing his mouth without a care in the world, and think how very, very screwed he was.

TBC  


* * *

 

When they woke up the next morning the harem-slash-desert bandits were gone, and so were their valuables. These were later found in the safe in the office, but the curses remained in the morning air.

Sanzo, much as he loathed being a part of the community, helped out with the packing. He was rolling up a blanket and watching Kougaji. There was something that bugged him about the guy.

“You come from money, don’t you,” he said, when the very expensive watch Kougaji had around his wrist finally matched a pattern in his memory.

Kougaji looked down at his watch, than back again at Sanzo. “Yes.”

“Does your mother approve of your friends?”

“As a matter of fact, no.” Kougaji smiled at Sanzo grimly. “She disapproves of my choice of just about everything, women included.”

“At least you fancy women,” Sanzo pointed out sensibly, haunted with the vision of the quiet disappointment in his own mother’s eyes and the easier-to-deal-with violent and contradictory reaction of his father.

“There is that, yes. I’m certain she’s not happy I’m here, right now, with camels, instead of in the Middle East and herding slaves with drills to the oil fields.”

“Your mother is a right bitch,” Sanzo said then. Kougaji stared at him for a moment, then offered a tentative, uncomfortable laugh.

“Step-mother. Let’s make that distinction. She is.”

“Hey there, good morning, gracious host. Can we eat before we depart into the night?” Gojyo stretched and did a few squats. He had foregone his jeans in favour of the jellabiya, judging by the lack of trouser lines.

“Night? It’s morning.”

“I have yet to see the sun, so unless you’ve got it stashed in your trousers, it is night.”

“Early start means we make it to the pit stop and can hide from the midday heat at least for a while,” Kougaji said.

“Praise the hallelujah, why do we have to get up at the crack of dawn?”

Kougaji opened his mouth to answer, again, but Sanzo shook his head. “He won’t even remember this in an hour, not worth your time.”

Gojyo blinked, confirming Sanzo’s diagnosis fully -- he was still half-asleep, barely fit to tie his own shoelaces, let alone consider the problems of cross-country camelling. Hakkai, thankfully, was more of an early riser and he was there to steer his boyfriend through the magic rituals of morning hygiene.

“Hi!” Goku appeared from behind the tent at a run, with Dug five inches from his calf. “Gosh, it’s awesome here!” He was barefoot and wearing nothing but the loud shorts Kanzeon had purchased for him. His chest looked good enough to lick.

“It’s a barren desert.”

“Yeah, nothing to trip on!”

Sanzo went back to his tent. It was beneath him to discuss the merits of a desert setting with a blind dog owner. What did he care? In a giant sandbox no one was going to ask Goku to clean up after the mutt, so of course he was happy! He had very little time to ponder this, all by himself, as minutes after he stormed off, Kougaji was knocking on the pole supporting the tent, signalling it was time to go.

Abu, the camel of indeterminable sex, deigned a look at Sanzo when he approached. The camel of indeterminable sex (well, no, but Sanzo didn’t care to find out) rolled its eyes (now of this Sanzo was certain) and knelt. Goku patted his or her nose as he passed and the damned animal inclined its head in greeting, responding with a hee-haw to Dug’s bark.

Sanzo watched Goku get onto his own camel, Flounder, and easily hop onto its back. He could swear there was a grin on the smug snout when the long legs unfolded and Goku shot up into the sky.

“Come on, Sanzo, move it!” Gojyo was already on the first floor, that’s how high his mount was, Hakkai closely following.

Sanzo gave Abu a long look. “You don’t bug me; I don’t bug you,” he muttered before hoisting himself into the saddle. Abu ignored his yelp and stood up as soon as it felt Sanzo’s weight, and it was only a miracle and sheer force of will that stopped Sanzo from falling off again.

“Are you okay, Sanzo?”

“Shoulder,” he said vaguely. Hakkai had enough tact to infer from his tone there would be no answers pertaining to the matter.

Goku, of course, had all the tact and subtlety of a charging elephant. He tugged at the reins, which some moron had left in his hands, and set Flounder’s course to a head-on collision with Abu. “Are you okay?” he asked anxiously, striking Sanzo dumb with the enormity of his eyes, one more time. He really should be getting used to this.

“I’m fine.”

“But your shoulder! You ought have someone look at it if it’s hurting, it was dislocated!”

“Hold up a bit, Sanzo. Your shoulder got dislocated? How the fuck did we not know?”

Sanzo gritted his teeth and swore to murder the monkey the first chance he got. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine.”

“Says the man who just fell off the camel.”

“I’m on it, aren’t I? Your argument lacks merit.”

“Yeah, but you are a little pale.”

“Leave me the hell alone.”

“Sanzo, if you are injured, now would be the time to mention it.” Hakkai had the power to manipulate lesser minds; it was therefore no surprise that the creature he rode obeyed his every whim. He levelled his pace with Sanzo’s, because his evil was most effective at short range, Sanzo supposed. “What is wrong with your shoulder?”

“Nothing. It was dislocated. It popped back in.”

“Does it hurt?”

Sanzo bit his lip. “Only if I put weight on it.”

Hakkai pursed his lips and Sanzo dug his heels into Abu’s sides, hoping the infernal creature would take a hint and ride off, away from the Supreme Interfering Master of All That Was Evil. No such luck. Abu turned its head, giving him a look and a superior smirk, then made sure its dinnerplates of hooves were moving exactly in synch with those of Hakkai’s camel.

“I hate camels.”

“Why?” Gojyo turned in the saddle, squinted against the glare of the newly risen sun, but grinned. “Awesome creatures, really.”

“Figures you’d like them. Affinity for humps must make the two of you soul-sibs.”

The camels giggled under their breaths and continued on into the rapidly brightening day. Soon Sanzo let himself fall into the half-doze that the camel’s lazy rocking encouraged. He woke when it was finally time to rest and sleep away high noon.

******

“We remind you that smoking is prohibited in all areas,” said a female voice. Sanzo muttered a vague curse in her direction, turned his head to his other shoulder and continued to doze.

“Sanzo?”

There was a hand on his shoulder. Sanzo lashed out before he had the chance to think about it, skimming the perpetrator’s cheek in the attempt to part them from their teeth.

“Are you fucking crazy!” Gojyo yelled jumping away. “A little care!”

“Why, did I hit something important? Couldn’t have been your head.”

“You are going to scare the poor kid away, sooner or later.”

Sanzo rolled his eyes. The airports were painfully boring, as boring as they were uncomfortable. The plastic ridges between the seats were digging into his neck, ribs and hips, ensuring that whatever sleep he managed to catch would be wasted. “I hate airports.”

“I’ve got one word for you: ocean.”

“I hate them a little less.” Sanzo rubbed his forehead. “Where’s your overlord?”

“Over in the food court, feeding your monkey and his dog.”

“Still?” Hakkai had whisked the two mutts away well before Sanzo tried for a nap.

“Kid is going to bankrupt you with his stomach one day.”

“I dread the day I start caring for his stomach.”

The departure screen fluttered, revealing that someone in flight control had just woken and decided to flip some switches, at long last. Their flight was up, highlighted in all the merry ways a flight gets highlighted when it is late and tries to make the passengers feel guilty about not being on board yet.

They had no luggage to speak of, so the boarding process was fairly painless. The first spot of trouble turned up at the very end, when a pair of stewards were collecting boarding passes.

“Sir, you cannot take a dog…” a stewardess at the gate started, looking at Dug and walking into a wall of pure evil.

“I’m sorry, are you trying to bereave my disabled friend of his guide dog?” Hakkai smiled sweetly, placing a friendly arm on the unfortunate woman’s shoulder.

“No, of course not,” she started stammering, and Sanzo almost felt bad for the poor cow -- he would have dismissed her with a glare that would merely reduce her to the size of a worm for an hour or two. Now that Hakkai had taken charge, she would be quivering in fear for years to come.

“Because I would hate to bear witness to an awful, awful scene,” Hakkai continued, giving Sanzo the mother of all inferiority complexes. He could belittle a man on par with the best: he was handsome, well-connected and rich, but Hakkai could make a man fear for his soul just by looking into his eyes. Such a level of mastery required that a child be nurtured by the many tits of Beelzebub from infancy on, and so Sanzo’s prime time for learning was long past.

Not that he knew much about Hakkai’s parents. From what he’d heard his mother was a perfectly lovely woman, which made Hakkai’s existence all the more puzzling.

They ended up being seated at the back of the plane, thanks to a kind family who had graciously consented to exchanging their seats, just so they were out of the zone the unfortunate woman was responsible for. Gojyo had insisted. He had a soft spot for most of Hakkai’s victims.

“Planes smell funny,” Goku said, a little dreamily. His head was lolling on his shoulder. He hadn’t slept, far as Sanzo knew, during the noon break, choosing instead to chat up that annoying female. Served the little moron right, being sleepy and uncomfortable now. Sanzo had stopped paying attention to the camel posse as soon as they reached civilisation, and to the female even sooner.

“Try not to breathe then,” Sanzo said.

“My head would hurt,” Goku said and before he could finish speaking his temple was resting on Sanzo’s shoulder. Sanzo exchanged a long look with Dug.

“Your master is a bit of a moron,” he mumbled through gritted teeth. Dug whined and rested his head on Sanzo’s knee. His cold nose prodded Sanzo’s hand, demanding scratches. “You are a bit of a moron, too.”

Sanzo didn’t need to look at Goku to know the monkey was smiling. When he was sure neither Gojyo nor Hakkai were looking, he dropped a small kiss onto his hair, getting a mouthful of sand for his trouble.

******

The flight was smooth and uneventful, far as Sanzo was aware, which was to say there might well have been a terrorist attempt, quiet enough to sleep through. He only awoke when the flight attendants started droning about the trays and upright positions, and then they were landing. Goku blinked his way into awareness not long after that, yawning at regular intervals. “Are we home yet?” he asked when they were herded out of the plane and onto the tarmac.

“No.” Sanzo looked around. There was something suspicious about the surroundings, more specifically about the short messages displayed all around. “This is not Heathrow. Why is this not Heathrow?”

“Ah, yes, I meant to discuss this. The soonest direct flight to Heathrow was tomorrow morning.”

“Go on,” Sanzo said, feeling a wave of calmness wash over him. “Where are we?”

“Paris, I believe.”

“Paris.”

“Yes. We are booked for the Eurostar in--” Hakkai checked his watch, “--seven hours.”

“You are telling me that there is no plane departing from Paris to London in seven hours? Did the third world war break out while we were gone?”

“Apparently Nepal has overthrown monarchy, but that’s it.”

“Why, pray tell, are we stuck in Paris then?”

Hakkai had the gall to look amused. “I had been reliably informed that there was a good chance of our plane being late, so I planned accordingly.”

Sanzo threw his hands in the air. “Find me a hotel.”

“It’s customary to buy them dinner first, Sanzo,” Gojyo said. Sanze presumed the only reason he wasn’t guffawing with laughter yet was that the conversation was taking place over the unassuming yellow line that separated the queue from the grim young man behind bulletproof glass, who was glaring at the passports of those arriving.

“What?”

“Treat the kid to a nice dinner and you’ll find he’d be more eager to drop his pants for you then.”

“How is that I haven’t murdered you yet?” Sanzo asked, rolling his eyes.

“There are long, lonely nights when I wonder that too.” Gojyo sighed theatrically and paused. A broad grin blossomed on his face and Sanzo knew -- oh how he knew -- that he ought to run, and run fast.

They were standing underneath a giant photo of the soul-sucking rodent from the Disney Corporation. “No,” Sanzo said, but clearly his credit card got the vote when he didn’t, as an hour later, the very same creature was very definitely trying to cop a feel of his arse.

“Ohmigosh,” Goku enthused, like he really was ten. He was patting the enormous head with a delight unbecoming of his age. “Mickey Mouse!”

“I feel a villain song coming on,” Sanzo said, taking Goku’s hand all the same. “A villain song and then a violent crime.” His head, the traitorous blond, refused to ache, thus leaving him without an excuse to wait out the so-called fun on a bench outside.

“You sing?”

“Given appropriate setting, alcohol and more alcohol, I could be persuaded.”

Goku’s eyes shone like something of a movie about a pink-toting princess with plans for an equally pink future. “I’d love to hear you sing!”

“I’d love to have enough alcohol to sing, that’s for damn sure.”

A scandalised middle-aged woman pulled her pink-infested young daughter to her and hissed at Sanzo. “ _Garder sa langue!_ ”

“Mind your brain, lady,” Sanzo muttered.

It was a lovely, sunny day, not too hot, with a gentle breeze wafting from the hot-dog stands in their direction. Hakkai and Gojyo had vamoosed to some secluded corner, hopefully to get thrown out for lewd behaviour, and Sanzo was left with Goku on his arm and Dug by their side, in the middle of something closely resembling a date.

“This is not a date,” he said when Goku was halfway through his first hot-dog of the day.

There was much blinking and confusion. “What is it then?”

Sanzo found this was a question nigh-impossible to answer, save for the answer he had provided already; the answer that had preceded the question. “Does it matter?” he said eventually, gratified in that at least Goku shrugged off the dilemma with ease.

“I dunno. I’m no good at naming stuff.”

Sanzo didn’t reply. He was positive that this would not, ever, be called a date, however he was just as certain that were someone else to invite Goku to hold hands and walk down a lunapark for snacks and rides, he would not only be cross, he would be pissed. For reasons unknown, of course. He put little stock in total awareness. He preferred the slightly less logical, but nonetheless entertaining, brand of flailing madly until life arranged itself to his liking.

It was confusing, often, to get so wrapped up in a version of reality he knew to be false, then to be broken out of it, even to results he pretended he wasn’t craving, and find himself stricken. Sanzo had considered investing in a therapist, once. He had gone to one session, on his parents’ insistence, had given the poor woman palpitations and never returned.

“OoooooOooh,” Goku said, and Sanzo stopped. Such a long, modulated o could never be good.

“What?”

“Can we go? Please, please, please?”

“No.”

“But it’s a giant frigging rollercoaster!” Dug barked and in the corner of Sanzo’s eye an utter nerd with a pencil and a notebook stared at them, open-mouthed.

“How can you tell, by the queue?”

“No, screaming. Rollercoasters also smell like wind.”

Sanzo awarded the comment a high nine on a scale of absolute ridiculousness. “They smell like puke.”

“Not true.”

“That’s because your nose is full of dog.”

“Hey, that’s not true!”

The argument continued well into the impossibly long line of people, also eager to part with their breakfasts and lunches on the monstrosity of a ride. Sanzo felt a stab of apprehension. “I’m gonna wait here.”

“Oh,” Goku said, a short little syllable thoroughly drenched in disappointment. Sanzo rolled his eyes and tried to snort, found the snort tried to be a sigh, failed on both accounts, and then, somehow, it was their turn.

They got front row seats, an treat wasted on the blind and the grumpy.

Sanzo’s brain decided to take extended vacation for the duration of the ride, returning when it was time to stagger out of the cart and onto solid ground.

“That was fun!” Goku bounced up and down as he unhooked Dug’s leash from the post. “Sorry Dug, they don’t let dogs on the ride.”

Sanzo said nothing. He said nothing when Goku laced their fingers together, said nothing at the feather-light touch in his hair, or the fact that Dug developed a palm-licking habit. A little later Sanzo would be making a mental note to the effect of “don’t eat salty food with your hands,” but that was still an outburst away.

Hakkai and Gojyo staggered out of an attraction, chased by the angry stares of the mother of pre-teen girls, and made their way along the boulevard. A scantily clad fairy scampered out of the way, leaving behind a trail of fairy dust, but the dynamic duo paid her no mind. Hakkai had acquired a disposable camera along the way, though there was precious little to take pictures of, apparently until Sanzo crossed their path.

There was a squeak, a blinding flash and then a guffaw of laughter.

“And just like that, the greatest sight since the pie incident has been immortalised.” Gojyo lifted his hands into the air and turned, expecting applause. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”

“What’s your cockroach on about?” Sanzo asked, rubbing the aftershocks of the flash out of his eyes.

“Ah. I see you have been avoiding reflective surfaces lately.”

“What?”

“You might want to take a look for yourself,” Hakkai said, linking arms with Goku and pulling him away. Sanzo turned to the nearest polished surface and stared.

And stared.

And stared some more.

“What the mother…” he started, but Gojyo’s well-placed hand and another scandalised father’s face stopped the string of expletives from taking flight. There were two black satellite dishes on his head, at present tuned in to Radio Gonna Kill You All. “I’m gonna burn the motherfucker alive.”

“… and once again the day is saved by our impeccable timing, Hakkai. We need a medal, or something.” Gojyo, mindless of the danger to his limb, reached out a hand to pluck the ears off Sanzo’s hair. “We have to roll, or we’re looking at a whole night in Paris.”

Sanzo considered the merits of (just) revenge, and considered Goku, and the quiet, unassuming silence of his bedroom. He nodded. “Let’s go.”

Revenge would have to wait.

TBC  


* * *

St Pancras was busy as usual. Goku clung to Gojyo’s elbow as they made their way past the door, listening intently to Dug’s breathing as they walked.

“Hey, don’t you have a white stick?” Gojyo asked, a question that, when voiced, turned all of their heads. “I thought you’re required to carry one.”

Goku blinked. “No, I don’t think so. I broke mine, in any case.”

“You broke it?”

“Before I got Dug. I went out, some kid tried to rob me. I think I broke it on his head.” Goku shrugged. “I prefer walking with Dug, anyway.”

“Good call, I’m sure.”

Sanzo barely listened. Being back home, on familiar territory, nothing seemed as important as getting back to his place and sorting out this mess to his satisfaction, that was until all responsible were dead. He all but ran through the station, dragging the blind guy behind him and dived into the first black cab incautious enough to stop.

“Get the fuck in and stop wasting my time,” he said in response to Gojyo and Hakkai’s milling about at the kerb. “I have to make some phone calls.”

“What kind of phone calls?” Hakkai asked, when they joined the traffic.

“My lawyers. Then the police.”

“I hate lawyers,” Gojyo groused.

“They have their uses.”

“I don’t have a lawyer,” Goku said. He’d been a little down ever since they got out of the Eurostar. “I don’t think I even know one.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sanzo reached out to pet Dug.

The ride was swift. Sanzo dropped a tenner into the driver’s outstretched hand and hustled his party out of the cab. The keys to his apartment were still in the zipped pocket of the leather jacket he stole from the vampire shindig, and the locks hadn’t been changed.

As it turned out, they were the only things that hadn’t.

Sanzo’s mouth opened when he beheld his apartment. There was a carpet on the corridor floor, starting three feet from the door. The windows in the room to the right were decorated with a sensible curtain, and there was a rug on the wooden floor to match. The kitchen hadn’t changed much, though a small table and a couple of chairs had mysteriously sprung up. The wall over them bore suspicious traces of fresh paint.

“What the fuck?” Sanzo managed, before his legs took over and hurried him to his living room. His desk was gone, along with the cheap, plastic chair. The rolled-up futon was gone, too. A glance to the left revealed, through the half-open door, that the bedroom was in favour again, boasting a low, giant bed, fluffy pillows and two downy comforters.

In the middle of the living room there were a couple of armchairs, one of which was occupied.

“Well, it looks better,” Gojyo said, as he pulled aside the curtain. “By which I mean, wow, dude. This appartment finally looks liveable!”

“Thank you,” said a voice. “May I interest you in some coffee?”

“Ukoku, what the fuck?” Sanzo asked, coming round the new furniture.

“I would love a coffee,” Gojyo said raising his hand. Hakkai nodded. Ukoku got up and made his way to the kitchen.

“Would you like anything?” he asked Goku as he passed.

“Hm? Oh, tea would be great. With milk and sugar, please.”

“Ukoku!” But there was no use in yelling. Ukoku returned minutes later with a wide tray Sanzo could swear he’d never owned, on which he’d arranged five cups and a bowl.

“Water, for your dog,” he said handing Goku the bowl. “Now, let’s to business.” How Sanzo hated the smug motherfucker. How he longed to punch the grin off his face.

“Hey, you are a little familiar.” Gojyo plopped down on the couch. “You mind? Or is this private?”

“Clearly, you have your part in these events. Be my guests. Or rather Sanzo’s.” Ukoku smiled in a chilly, menacing way, one common to truly magnificent lawyers. “And yes, we have met.”

“Koumyou’s funeral,” Hakkai said unexpectedly.

“Indeed.”

“He was Koumyou’s lawyer,” Sanzo explained to Goku. “What do you want?”

“I’m here for the reading of an addendum to the will,” Ukoku said opening his laptop. “I shall let Koumyou do the honours.”

Sanzo started at the words and stared at the screen in disbelief. It was, without doubt, Koumyou -- impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, even if his face was wan, belying the rich aura he exuded. “My dear Sanzo,” he said. “I think you are being overdramatic.”

In the stunned silence that followed only Gojyo dared to open his mouth. “Well, duh,” he said, then fell silent again as Hakkai gripped his arm.

“There is such a thing as reasonable grief and by no means would I take that away from you. However you need to set yourself a limit. A month may not be enough, half a year is plenty to venture outside for reasons other than fresh beer, a year of rememberance, should I be so lucky... But two years is beyond even the most reasonable limits.

“I feel it is my duty to ensure you don’t wallow in your very flattering despair for too long, hence this arrangement.” Koumyou leaned forward in his chair. “I shan’t bother you with the details of my will here, as I’m sure you remember that there was a trust fund, in my name, that I left for my good friend Ukoku to manage. I know you well enough that burdening you with even more money than you already have wouldn’t produce any beneficial results whatsoever. I have therefore requested that the funds be used for…” Koumyou raised a brow at something behind the camera, bit his lip as though to hold in a laugh, and continued, “shock therapy, of sorts.

“There are details to be sorted out, making allowances for future hindrances and, god forbid, wars or other minor inconveniences, details that I’m certain Ukoku will manage on my behalf.” Koumyou paused again and closed his eyes. Sanzo didn’t dare to breathe. The light coming in from the window suggested the video had been shot in November, which meant that the cancer had been spreading like wildfire, sprouting a new branch with every spoken word. This couldn’t have been longer than a month before Koumyou’s death.

“Again, I shan’t bore you with things that you already know, Sanzo. You know it best yourself: you are young and an isolated living room is not the place to spend your youth in. Let me say this instead: do not bore me.” The video ended on a smile Koumyou had perfected in their years together -- a slow, pleased smile that hid his tremendous intellect and sharp wit.

“Wait a goddamned minute,” Gojyo said sitting up straight. “Are you telling me this whole thing, Venezueala, the jungles, balloons, vampires and everything, all that was just to get Sanzo out of his funk?”

“Indeed, you may say that.” Ukoku stretched in the chair. His grin gained a feral quality.

At Sanzo’s side Goku blinked. “So you pulled all of this just to play a prank on Sanzo? That’s…”

Sanzo finally found his voice. “Despicable!”

“I was gonna say awesome, but if that works better,” Goku said.

“What?”

“What what?”

“Despicable is the opposite of awesome.”

“Oh.”

“You- You think it was _awesome_?”

Goku’s bright eyes turned to him and his hand reached out to find Sanzo’s. “I think it’s great. It helped you, didn’t it?”

“Helped me what, lose my nonexistent trust in lawyers? How long did it take to plan this out, huh?”

“Surprisingly enough,” Ukoku said, “The most difficult part was finding a decent veterinarian who would be willing to drop everything he was doing and come, should his services prove necessary, at a moment’s notice. Once we secured such services, the rest was a breeze.”

Goku perked up. “For Dug?”

“Naturally. It wouldn’t do to cause any harm.”

“Tell that to my shoulder.”

“Ah, that was unfortunate, I admit. It would have been much better if you had let go.”

“And splatter myself evenly on the floor of that cliff?”

Ukoku smiled, again. Sanzo trusted the smile no more than he would trust his wellbeing to a flock of piranhas. “Please. There would be no point in arranging a drop-off at the side of a cliff had there been no team to provide safe landing at the bottom.”

“I am most impressed,” Hakkai said. He was sitting on the couch, prim and proper, with hands folded in his lap, but his eyes never left Ukoku.

Gojyo raised a brow. “Gotta say, I see the resemblance. Are you two in any way related? Made your vows to honour Satan together, or something?”

“What about their jobs?” Sanzo said folding his hands. Inside he tried to seethe, but the inner furnace was doused with warm and mushy substances whenever Goku’s fingers brushed his hand. “We’ve been gone for weeks.”

“Twenty-two days, to be exact. There are arrangements for all financial repercussions, naturally. All appropriate accounts had been credited with reimbursement for time and money spent. In addition, Mr Sha’s employer graciously allowed him the leave, and Mr Cho disappeared mere days before the school year ended. Arranging a substitute was child’s play. As for Mr Son, Mr Homura was gracious enough to speak with the volunteer centre on his behalf.

“Now, I would be most grateful if you chose to sign these forms,” he added, opening his briefcase, putting away the laptop and setting four stacks of documents on the coffee table, along with four mobile phones, three of which Sanzo recognised as belonging to himself, Hakkai and Gojyo.

“What are they?”

“Mere formalities. A consent form for all necessary activities you have participated in.”

“If we don’t sign?” Sanzo challenged without even thinking about it. Challenging had been his modus operandi for far too long.

“I have no intention of forcing you and as your lawyer I would advise you to go to trial and demand compensation. Of course,” Ukoku grinned, “you would have to file the suit against me, as the true perpetrator is dead, and that could lead to a conflict of interest.”

Goku was the first to ask for a pen. “I had a lot of fun,” he said to Sanzo. “I’m happy you included me.”

“Whoah, kid! Don’t sign anything you can’t read.” Gojyo pulled the paper out of Goku’s hands and skimmed it. “Looks okay.”

“Of course. Koumyou’s will made a requisite of your legal and factual security.”

When the pen circulated his way, Sanzo signed the forms without so much as a glance. He almost smiled at the lopsided “Goku Son” along the dotted line. It curved into half a smiley face, whose eyes were made up of the words “sign here”.

“What’s Homura got to do with all this?” Sanzo asked when Ukoku collected the papers.

“We knew you are acquainted and since he is a very influential man, we asked whether he’d be interested in helping us out. Of course, when he heard Mr Son was involved, his interest grew… exponentially.” Ukoku took a sip of his coffee. Sanzo hid a growl in his own cup. The coffee smelled like ground dollar signs. He had to wonder if a new coffee machine had made its way into his kitchen. “Mr Son’s condition presented something of a problem, as well as minute rearrangements, but I rather think this worked out for the best, don’t you?”

Sanzo turned away. “You were in on it?” he asked, because what else could he ask? There was not enough fear or worry to indicate otherwise, even if his own mind rebelled at the thought, both on Goku’s and his own behalf.

“No! Why would I be in on this, I barely knew you!” Dug howled and Sanzo felt a tiny, little sliver of hope that hatched into his insides and bloomed.

“Well, that would be all, then,” Ukoku said.

“What about the flat?” Sanzo asked, already detached from the proceedings.

“Complimentary refurbishment, courtesy of the dearly departed Koumyou. He had the arrangements made shortly before he died.” Ukoku got up. “Such a pleasure working with you. Please relay my regards to you aunt. You know where to find me, should that prove necessary.” He was out the door before Sanzo had the chance to utter a syllable.

“Wow,” Gojyo said. “I mean, wow.”

“Koumyou had, shall we say, vision.” Hakkai twirled his cup absent-mindedly. “I admire him for it. In any case, I think we should leave,” he said standing up.

“What, now?”

“Yes, now. We will see you tomorrow, Goku, Sanzo.”

Sanzo barely registered them leaving. There were the tell-tale sounds of numbers being punched into phones and then the door shut. It was only when Goku collected Dug’s bowl, washed it and started muttering his goodbyes that he awoke from his daze. “You don’t have to go,” he said. “There ought to be food in the fridge, for you and the mutt: the fucker likes to plan.”

Goku didn’t say anything, but Sanzo felt the couch dip beside him, so close that he felt the weight against his side. “I haven’t had a couch in over two years,” he said for want of something to say and then Goku kissed him.

“I’m gonna go home now,” Goku said when they broke apart. “But I’ll be in the park tomorrow morning, okay?” Dug bounced onto the couch to lick Sanzo’s cheek and then they were gone.

Sanzo didn’t sleep well that night. He lay awake on the couch for most of the night, staring at the ceiling, the last empty space in his flat. The city lights cast shadows on the furniture, strange, fleeting shadows danced across the ceiling. He dozed off now and then, waking finally when dawn coloured the room. He stayed where he was until his mobile phone chimed.

Then he got up and went jogging.

******

Goku’s toothpaste was precariously balanced, hanging from the rim of the glass. Sanzo watched it out of the corner of his eye. It hadn’t been here long, or Goku would have learned to put it in properly -- Sanzo’d seen Goku master the use of the dishwasher and the utensil cabinet in the past few weeks. All he needed was a certain amount of time, repetition and the compulsive need to have everything in its proper place.

Sanzo looked towards the ceiling.

He had always thought he was gifted with words. He had a witty riposte for every occasion, many that didn’t warrant one and then some, but a true gift would have to be broader, wouldn’t it? A true gift for words would mean he could voice all his emotions and doubts and feelings, name and present them so that anyone could understand. How was it then that the mess in his head was a heap of maroon and purple, with occasional flashes of gold, and ringing of bells?

“Sanzo? Are you okay?” Goku asked from the other side of the bathroom door.

“I’m fine. Go to bed.” Sanzo straightened his legs, and banged his head against the bathtub. This was idiotic. What was he doing, to begin with? Hiding in the bathroom. Why? Fuck him if he knew.

Well, that was the whole problem, wasn’t it? Sex with Koumyou had been slow like molasses and about as passionate as the mating of elephants. It had been satisfying in its way, though less as an answer to hormonal storms and more a pleasurable pastime. Having sex with Goku was probbly going to be more like trying to put out a man on fire. There would be no clear picture of what was going on, but there would be heat and a lot more limbs than he would expect to find and a whole lot of the fire refusing to be controlled, refusing to die, instead burning all the hotter with every touch.

Sanzo had felt the flames spreading as soon as he kissed Goku, every single time, but it wasn’t until they got into a state of partial undress that his inner control freak had panicked, hence his current position on the bathroom floor.

“What?” he asked Dug, who made it inside before he slammed the door.

Dug whined.

“Shut up.” His heartbeat was slowly returning to normal. Soon he’d be able to walk out of the bathroom and maybe not panic at the mere thought of taking off his clothes. Maybe. Perhaps. Hopefully.

Dug gave him a soul-searching look.

“I can,” Sanzo growled at him. “Shut up.” It was never a question of getting it up, that he could manage without resorting to outside help. He was barely thirty, for fuck’s sake, and Goku was so hot even the memory of him was enough. No, the trouble here was far more delicate and depressing. If he had been a little more prone to introspection and poetics, Sanzo thought ironically, or little more inclined to analyse his motives, he would have thought he was the very picture of a Victorian blushing bride on her wedding night. It was a good thing he wasn’t.

It took another couple of minutes, but eventually he got up and opened the door. Goku wasn’t there. This was good, and meant that he had an additional moment to compose himself. Dutch courage crossed his mind, but he disregarded it. He’d rather remember sex, things usually worked out better that way. Very slowly, step-by-step, he made his way into the bedroom.

Goku was on the bed, wearing pyjamas with a very juvenile print. His fingers were tracing the cover of a novel Sanzo must have bought at one point, but never got round to reading.

“Read to me?” Goku asked, holding out the book.

Sanzo didn’t say anything. He got onto the bed, piling the fluffy pillows high against the wall. Goku snuggled close to him, resting his head on Sanzo’s shoulder. His hair smelled of shampoo and freshly washed clothes. Sanzo wasn’t certain this was better than sex, but tonight -- just tonight -- it was enough.

“Murders tended to happen in pairs,” he started. “Even when serial killers were scarce on the ground, whenever someone in the city decided that there was this one person they couldn’t bear to see on God’s green Earth again, someone else would inevitably come to the same conclusion, about someone else…”

 **THE END**


End file.
